Obsidian
by darcysfriend
Summary: Every few generations, the Keepers of the Obsidian, composed of the Ring and the Mirror, gently protect and pave the way for couples who need to find their way to each other for a story that would, indeed, be as old as time. Follow Darcy and Elizabeth's story with me.
1. PROLOGUE

**OBSIDIAN**

_Fitzwilliam Darcy thought that the obsidian ring that had been in his family's possession for centuries was a simple trinket. In truth, every few generations, the Keepers of the Obsidian, composed of the Ring and the Enchanted Mirror, gently protect and pave the way for couples who need to find their way to each other for a story that would, indeed, be as old as time._

_(Crossover of sorts, but only just so.)_

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

**In the 1200s in Scotland, there lived a man named Gilbert Fitz William of Hameldone, scion of Scottish noblemen from the Lowland clans. He married an unknown woman named Isabella Randolph, and they had a son they named Walter, born 1274, under whose leadership the Clan Hamilton (Hameldone) flourished mightily in Scotland. It is often said that the history of the Hamiltons ****_is _****the history of Scotland, so important was that clan in the economic, political and social aspect of Scottish development. This is the start of their story.**

* * *

**1268, Renfrewshire, Scotland –**

An eerie night it was, near Samhain – that alone lent a frightful air to the surrounding. One nobleman, Gilbert son of William of Hameldone by name, let his steed trudge through the mist, intent to reach his destination of a castle he wanted to scout for acquisition – by force if need be – for his family line, the noble House of Leicester. He was traveling alone, and for this spurious decision Gilbert now cursed himself, as he could not dispel a disquiet within. There was something different about tonight. He held at bay the little tendril of fear that started to coil his heart as he wound through the ghostly path with heightened senses.

Rain began to fall … soft sprinkles at first, then a deluge that caused both rider and horse to stumble many times. Then a hailstorm. "Curses!" muttered a furious Gilbert. "Would to heaven that the sky would just cease its mouth, and let me travel the last few miles with ease!"

At last he saw the manor gate. Gilbert led his horse past the lake that rounded one side of the castle for a quiet survey. Suddenly, a shadowy figure loomed up front, with a smaller one beside it, and startled the horse so badly that the mount reared back and threw off its rider. Gilbert was at once livid. "You wench!" he cried, whirling with fury at the taller figure now cringing in fear. "Your life shall be forfeit for this!" He pulled out a sword from this horses' side and made to strike the offending creature.

"Please no, please, sire!" the stranger cried in a frightened voice, hurriedly pulling back the hood to reveal the wizened face of an old woman. Beside her, a figure of a little boy whimpered. "I mean no harm! I only seek shelter from the storm, sire, for me and this child. Please!" Trembling, she grabbed Gilbert's legs to beg for mercy. Though mollified, Gilbert nonetheless gave the woman a quick shove. The woman stumbled backward, but hurriedly crawled back to grovel at the nobleman's feet. The wailing child clung on to her.

This made Gilbert angrier. He tried to shake off the woman, but she held tenaciously. Gilbert hauled her up by the hair then the shoulders. Being a tall man, he clear lifted her off the ground to bring her up to his face, as he gritted out his words, "You are never to touch me again, filthy crone – you are not fit to kiss the feet of anyone from the House of Leicester. Now be gone!" And with that, he threw the old woman to the ground. She fell facedown, dragging the boy down with her.

It was then that time seemed to stop. The old woman and her child lay motionless on the ground when a swath of light came out of nowhere and wrapped them, its brilliance increasing that Gilbert had to shield his eyes. Soon the light dimmed, and Gilbert saw that the woman and child had disappeared. He stood rooted to the spot, breathing heavily. Slowly, he backed towards his horse, when from the corner of his eye, he saw a little point of light just beyond the trees on the lake, growing bigger and brighter as it came nearer … nearer … and took a womanly form.

_The Lady of the Lake!_ Gilbert gasped. His horse, terrified for its own sake at the supernatural events, bolted out of its master's grasp with a neigh and ran off. Gilbert was awestruck as the apparition approached him with feet that hovered just above the mirror surface of the lake, until_ she _stood, tall and willowy, in front of him. She was bathed in moonlight and clad in luminescent silk, her hair forming a halo to give her a wispy appearance if not for the steel glint of the eyes. She never opened her mouth, but Gilbert could be in no doubt of her voice. He also tried to talk, but a lift of the head of the Lady quickly shut his mouth.

**_Gilbert son of William of Hameldone - my servants whom you apprehended have tested you, and have proven you are hardly worth the calling bestowed upon you - and only Time will prove if you become so. _**

**_From this moment on, you will be as a Beast in this castle you have sought, alone but for the loyal servants I have chosen. A Beast you shall remain, until you have learned in your heart to be kind and generous, as Fate has been to those of your blood. Your appearance shall be gruesome and revolting to all, until comes one to pierce through your pride and prejudice, and loves you for the man beneath the monster and trappings of wealth. Only then will you return to be a man, and continue on your path._**

Suddenly, Gilbert was assailed by pain that shot through his every bone, throwing him on the ground and making him twist and groan loudly. In horror, Gilbert saw his form change – from the smooth, well-toned, well-kept limbs of a nobleman to that of a huge-boned, hairy, unkempt and grotesque figure of a beast. Hair grew on every part of his body, nails became more like claws, and teeth grew into fangs. His clothes began to tear. Gilbert tried to cry out, but his voice released more of a snarl – and he lay there on the cold, wet ground, panting and wailing in distress. He closed his eyes in terror and humiliation. The apparition drew near to Gilbert, bending down to look straight into his soul, as a mysterious smile formed around her lips.

**_Gilbert son of William … your place of greatness is there if you have the courage to grasp it. I leave you with the Obsidian – the ring and the mirror which in time, you will know how to use._**_**The Ring can only be used once for its original purpose, after which its manifest power would be different … but the Mirror will always, always, hold the image of the beloved …**_

Gilbert looked down beside him to find on the ground an obsidian hand mirror, exquisite in its simplicity of design, and a mysterious obsidian ring, both incandescent in moonlight. He lifted his gaze - the Lady of the Lake was gone. Gilbert clumsily clasped the mirror and ring to his bosom, and cried.

"Oh, Master Gilbert," broke through a kind, compassionate voice. Gilbert looked up to see a motherly figure with vaguely familiar eyes - it was the old woman he had earlier mistreated so, but this time she was well dressed, though in the attire of an educated servant. Gilbert again tried to speak, but everything came out in grunts. The woman smiled kindly. "Why do I not help you up, sire, and we can go into the house where everything has been prepared for ye? There, there now, take this blanket to cover ye, sire. It is a mighty cold night." She helped Gilbert stand as upright as he could.

The woman continued to gently speak to him.

"I am called Mistress Potts, Master … and the young lad is my son Philip, whom I call Chip." Gilbert turned weakly to look at the smiling fellow, about fourteen, who walked on his other side, and again he recognized the boy from earlier – a little more grown, but still a lad.

Gilbert's eyes voiced another question, and the lad smiled. "We are the Keepers of the Obsidian, sire … and we are your servants." And with that, mother and son led the frightened young master into the castle.

* * *

**_Four years passed …_**

From the dark halls of the manor, a lone merchant was released from captivity, but instead of rejoicing, his heart was shattering inside.

He could still hear the awful snarl of that Beast (there was no other way to call that creature!): "You will bring your daughter to _me!" _Oh, he groveled at the creature's feet, stating that he would take whatever punishment was required …_ please, just not my Belle_! The Beast was unmoved - Belle was the price he wanted, and making plain that he would not tolerate trickery of any kind, the Beast instructed Maurice Randolph (for that was the merchant's name) to bring Belle to the edge of the forest at a set date. If anyone other than Belle stood there, she would die, Maurice along with her. If they did not come, there was no place in the world they could hide. No, Maurice thought … a bargain had to be sealed, albeit with much pain for him.

He wept bitter tears. Isabella was the youngest of his three daughters, the most loving and selfless girl he had ever known. How had he come to this? How much heartache was he to endure? He lost his wife not a half year ago. His lone trade ship – carrier of his family's expectations – was plundered by pirates, leaving him with nothing. Was he to lose his youngest child as well?

_All he wanted was a beautiful flower for his dear child. The other two daughters had asked for silk and jewels galore, and all he had was a handful of semi-valuable trinkets picked up from a village market. But Belle asked for nothing but a rose. In near-winter. Where was such a thing even to be found? _

_And yet there it was. A perfect bloom peeking through the grate of some massive gate. Surely the estate owner would not mind him plucking one little flower among all of those hundreds of beauties in his garden? _

_No sooner had Maurice done so when he felt himself lifted off the ground and violently hurled several feet away by a massive creature with a snarl as ferocious as his grip. Before he could even begin to recover, he felt something – claws, perhaps – dig into his left cheek, and would definitely have suffered more assault had not a woman's voice called out, "Master, stop!"_

_Yet Maurice had his collar gripped once more, as a furious growl assailed him, "You DARE steal from ME? I will kill you for this!"_

_And Maurice could only whimper, "No, no steal … only wanted … flower for my daughter … Belle …" And then all was black._

_The next thing he knew was that he was being cared for by servants. A woman called Mistress Potts made sure his needs were answered - he was bathed, the gash on his cheek mysteriously fully healed, he was given fresh clothes, then offered a warm, luxurious supper. It felt bizarre. Then from a shadowed corner of the parlor, the Master spoke in lowered tones that could little mask the harshness of the voice. "You will bring your daughter to me." His pleading came to naught … but a soft touch from Mistress Potts calmed him somewhat. "Please, sire … do as the Master says. I swear to you, your daughter will be safe and cared for, and will want for nothing." In a whispered tone, she added, "Certain as the sun, you will see her again."_

Now Maurice Randolph was on his way home to his daughters, with the full appearance of having had a successful venture. Nobody in his village was to know of these bizarre events. A full coterie of castle servants, ordered by the enigmatic lord of the manor to accompany him, bore in carriages trunk-loads of riches and finery for his daughters … but Maurice cared very little. His dear Isabella would be taken from him soon, and it felt as though the biggest part of him had already died.

* * *

**Author's Notes: All events in this story are made up, though I may use a few historical names and general dates to create a frame for my imagination. Naturally, creative license is invoked.**

**I am not Scottish, so I am not quite sure if the spoken lines here sound as they should. Not a medieval writer, either.**

**All recognizable characters not mine.**

**_* Fitz – a patronymic prefix to denote "the son of". Hence, "FitzWilliam" means "the son of William. Last names only started to catch on in Europe during the 13_****_th_****_ century, from what I understand. "Fitz" as a prefix would sometimes denote illegitimacy, but not always._**


	2. SONG AS OLD AS RHYME

**Chapter 1**

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**January 1796, Pemberley, Derbyshire, England -**

"And so it was that for many months, Belle lived at the Beast's castle, with jewelry and finery to wear, and books to read to her heart's content. She was happy. The servants were kind and cheerful, and Belle liked them tremendously. The Beast too was polite, although Belle realized that he could be rather temperamental sometimes – but soon, she lost her fear of him as well. She even learned that his name was Gilbert."

Young Master Darcy, Fitzwilliam by name, was indulging in a favorite pastime – being in the nursery with his infant sister Georgiana simply for nearness' sake. Naturally, at five months, the babe did nothing but give a toothless grin and slobber all over her brother's arms. William did not mind one bit. His little sister was all he had left of his mother who died giving birth - a circumstance that brought Pemberley into deep mourning and, on the part of the Master, abiding resentment against the babe. Since Georgiana was born, Mr. Darcy the elder had rarely looked in on the child, and twelve-year old William felt it incumbent to lavish her with attention to make up for the father's lack. William looked at his sister's wide eyes wistfully. "Ah, Georgiana …"

There was a snort at the doorway, and Fitzwilliam looked up with a scowl to see George Wickham, son of Pemberley's steward, walk in with a swagger. "Well, is this not cozy? Fitzwilliam playing nanny!" He laughed mockingly. "Do you nurse him too? I would like to see _that_!"

William gently put down a squiggly Georgiana in her crib, then resolutely faced that same-age boy."Get out, George. I will not have you near my sister, ever. You are poison to everything you touch."

George stood toe to toe with William, hatred spearing out of his eyes. _I can take you down, _George thought, _and I will – and we will see who becomes Master of Pemberley. _He was about to open his mouth in a challenge when from the hallway came the voice of Mr. Darcy, "George? Where are you? Come, my boy … it is time for our ride."

A smirk then crossed George Wickham's face as he looked at the suddenly pale face of the Darcy scion. "He calls me 'his boy'. I am more son to him than you will ever be, old coot." And sneering, he sauntered out of the room. William stood there, despair flooding him until he heard a soothing voice from a corner of the nursery.

"Don't pay him any mind, Master William. Ye are th' son of this great house, an' he will ne'er win o'er ye." It was Georgiana's nanny, a middle-aged Scottish woman sent by Lady Anne's relatives in Scotland while the mistress was in her lying-in, then her consequent illness and death. Fitzwilliam was always sorry that the nanny, so caring not only with Georgiana but also with him, was only with the Darcys on loan, and probably when Georgiana's first year was up, she would have to go back to Scotland. He smiled tightly at the woman.

"I know, Nanny. It is just that … George always says he is worth more to Papa than I, and that one day he will own Pemberley and drive me away." He lifted anxious eyes to her. "That is not true, is it? Papa does not truly love him more?"

The woman's heart squeezed within her, and she wanted nothing more than to hold the little boy – quickly growing into a man, yes, but still a little lost boy. She inhaled to cleanse away the anger she felt toward the current Master of Pemberley and his lackey, George Wickham. Then exhaling, she smiled at Fitzwilliam, who was looking at her curiously, and said, "Come, laddie, I hae somethin' yer Mama gae me afair she passed. She said it belonged tae ye." Nanny reached in a deep trunk and pulled out a wooden box with a key, retrieved from a chain around her neck. Opening the box, she took out a ring, and held it in her palm to show William.

"William, son of Anne … this ring came from your Mama's folk in Scotland, an' has been with them fir generations. Tis a simple ring, tae be sure, made only o' obsidian, but tis not the price of it that gives it worth. Tis the story behind it …"

"Is it the obsidian ring of Grandpapa Gilbert?" William asked excitedly.

The servant laughed, and said, "I see that yer Mama told you the tale, an' noo I think abit it, I did overhear you sharin' 'at story with the wee bairn Miss Georgiana earlier, aye?" William nodded. "Well, young Master, this ring will always bring you home. Nae matter where ye are … it will brin' ye tae where ye are loved." She gave the ring to William, and William reverently clasped it, not yet putting it on.

"Pemberley?" he asked in a whisper.

"Where ye are loved, Master William," she repeated, and picked up Georgiana to sit on high-backed chair.

"Will you tell me the rest of the story, Nanny? That part where Grandmama Belle asked to visit her family?"

And so the woman, with a babe in her arms and an enrapt boy at her feet, recounted the story of said boy's many-times-over-great-grandmother Isabelle Randolph, stating that Belle was indeed happy at the castle. She and the man-turned-Beast had become friends. "Belle e'en had an affection that delighted the servants," Nanny narrated, "but she also missed 'er father an' sisters. She begged Gilbert to allow her to visit, an' was glad when he agreed, on th' condition that she return exactly a week later, an she bring with her an enchanted mirror an' ring. The mirror would allow her t' see what was happenin' back at the Beast's castle, an' the ring would brin' 'er back in an instant when turned three times aroun' 'er finger. And wi' that, Gilbert watched Belle leave."

Nanny whispered, "Ye see, Master William, by noo Gilbert knew he loved Belle. But it was nae enough to break th' spell. Belle 'ad to love him back, enough tae return tae him an' be with him forever." William was awestruck. Then without prompting, he slipped on the ring … and as he and Nanny stared at the obsidian, a fantastic kaleidoscope of colors bounced on its surface.

_That is it, _the servant thought. _The rin' has chosen its master. _For indeed, it had been said among the Fitzwilliams that nobody chose the ring; the ring chose the wearer. Many in past generations had overlooked the ring because of its plainness … but once in a rare while, with generations in between, there would be one intricately drawn to it as if by some unseen power. As young Fitzwilliam Darcy was now.

Quietly Nanny continued the story. "Belle's family knew nothin' about th' enchanted obsidian items," she said, "as they were a secret 'tween th' Beast an' Belle. Papa was glad tae have her home, but th' sisters were envious of Belle's fine clothes an' jewelry. Knowin' that Belle was tol' to return to the Beast on a certain day, they begged 'er to bide. Belle agreed. Th' sisters hoped that the Beast would be angry with Belle an' would fling 'er out." Nanny laughed when William predictably grunted his annoyance.

She continued. "After a time, Belle began tae feel guilty, an' she missed Gilbert. She used th' mirror tae see him an' was horrified tae find him half-dead wi' sorrow in th' garden! At once Belle used th' ring tae brin' 'er back. Rushin' to Gilbert, Belle wept, sayin' o'er an' o'er again how sorry she was. Finally, she said she loved him. As soon as she said those words, a wondrous thin' happened. Beast transformed intae a tall, 'andsome nobleman afair Belle's eyes! It was then she learned all that 'appened – about his encounter with the Lady of th' Lpch, an' how an' why he was transformed intae a hideous Beast. Only by learnin' tae be kind an' findin' someone who would love 'im despite his appearance, would th' curse be broken. By some miracle, Gilbert an' Belle fell in love. So they married, an' they lived 'appily … ever … after."

The last few words were said in a whisper, as by that time, Fitzwilliam too had fallen asleep at Nanny's feet, his cheek pressed against her knee. The servant looked fondly at that still-tender face. _Poor dearie, _she sighed. _Don't ye fret, lad, everything will turn out alright. _She looked at the ring – still a mite too big – on William's finger. It was glowing. Not with excessive brilliance, but in a way that made the obsidian pool a swirling mass of ever-changing colors. Nanny whispered, "Oh, Master William … ye 'ave been marked for th' ring … and aye, somebody else for th' mirror."

Fitzwilliam shifted a little in his sleep, and then in an unconscious whisper that made the servant chuckle, he said very sleepily, "Do not go back to Scotland, please, Mrs. Potts? Stay with me forever." And he went back to a soft snore.

Mrs. Potts grinned. _Don't ye worry, Master William … we 'ave many years yet. _She sighed. _I gave Master Gilbert my word – ye will be safe._

* * *

**_Four months ago, in September 1795, in London -_**

Ashton Bennet was growing frantic by the second. He had looked into every nook and cranny of St. Botolph's, peeked under the pulpit and every pew in the sanctuary, searched behind every tree, pot and statue in the churchyard, and finally walked up and down Aldergate Street … and still she was not to be found. _What could that girl have been thinking? She knew better than to leave my side!_

But even as Ashton thought that, he knew that it was not exactly true. His second child would in reality be the one to go off and explore on her own, hardly giving thought to an apoplexy for him and her mother. _She is only four years old!_ Ashton rubbed his head in both frustration and guilt. He had taken his precocious daughter despite protests from his wife, to an excursion of the newly-rebuilt St. Botolph's Church in London (while visiting their relatives in Gracechurch Street) to view the much-vaunted stained glass window of famed artist James Pearson.

"Elizabeth Joyce Bennet, I swear – when I find you, I would … I would …. argh!" Ashton gritted in frustration, then panicked when he heard a screech coming from the adjacent church yard of the Greyfriars. He ran as fast as he could, heart trapped in his throat. _Lizzy!_

"No! You cannot do that!" came her high-pitched protest. "_Stop_!" Her voice was met by a loud gale of laughter … male laughter.

Ashton rounded the corner to enter the back courtyard, grabbing a wooden bench along the way and ready for a big fight …

Only to find Lizzy on a concrete garden bench with a lanky lad of probably fourteen or fifteen years, and a chess board between them. "Papa!" the sprite cheerfully called when she saw him, his mouth hanging open and bench held high over his head. "Tell him - the King cannot move all the way across the board! Tis cheating!" she glared.

"Well, why not? He is King! He should be able tae move around as he pleases!" laughed the young man at Lizzy's obvious irritation.

Lizzy harrumphed. "Well, even kings have rules, and _your _king should learn to follow rules. Is that not right, Papa?" Lizzy looked at her father, and for the first time saw the bench over his head. "Papa, you have come to sit with us?"

Relief rushing through him, Ashton dropped the bench with a crash and rushed to pick up his wayward girl and squeeze her tight. "Lizzy! God, you gave me such a fright!" Then he put her down and knelt in front of her, frustration giving way to anger. "Elizabeth Joyce! How many times have I told you that you are never to leave my side? This is London, young lady … not Hertfordshire! Even there I do not allow you to go off by yourself … why would you think that I would do so now in London? You know _our _rules, Lizzy! Do you know what could have happened? Do you know who could have … oh Lizzy!" And he gathered his little girl close to his chest one more time.

"Am sorry," came the girl's muffled voice against his coat. "Not mean to scare you, Papa." Ashton just held on to his daughter tightly, not saying anything for a few minutes, until he remembered the now-standing young man he found with Elizabeth. He stood up, stared at the fellow who was grinning up at him with open cheerfulness (which made Ashton feel better). Without taking his eyes off of him, he asked, "Lizzy … who is this?"

"Oh!" The little girl began to chatter on happily. "His name is Philip, Papa, but his mama always calls him Chip because his front teeth do not come together, and so he said I can call him Chip too if I like, but only if you agree, but I said that you would agree, because he stayed with me when I was alone and he said he would not leave until you come to …"

"Alright, alright, hold on, Lizzy," Ashton Bennet was determined to stem the flow of words from his precocious child. Turning to the young man, he said, "Thank you, Master … er … Chip. It seems you have been of tremendous aid to me in keeping my little wanderer rooted. Thank you." Ashton stretched out his hand, and Chip smilingly took it for a shake.

"Oh, tis nothing, sire. She was actually delightful company … ne'er is more intelligent company tae be found anywhere in a wee lass as your daughter."

Ashton caught the rather foreign accent and manner of speaking. "From Scotland?"

And to this Chip grinned. "Aye, sire. Just 'ere in Town for a spell as me family conducts business." At Ashton Bennet's questioning look, Chip smiled even wider. "Insurance, sire! Me mother always said that we safeguard people's 'opes."

Ashton could find no reply offhand at the odd answer, as his thought was that the simply-dressed but well turned out young man looked to be a trustworthy sort of fellow with a perkiness that was both irritating and endearing. Shaking off the last vestiges of worry for Elizabeth, Ashton simply smiled at Chip and nodded, then looked down at his child who was still bouncing on her feet. He sighed. "Well, thank you, anyway. Lizzy, we best head back to your Uncle's house. Mama must be worried. Say goodbye to Master Chip."

Elizabeth giggled, presumably at the word _master_, but readily complied. "Goodbye, Chip! Thank you for staying with me. And thank you for my mirror!"

Before Ashton could say anything, Lizzy was already dragging him out of the church courtyard, and with his relief at finding his daughter still quite profound, he promptly forgot all about inquiring about that mirror.

On Elizabeth's part, the adventurous imp promptly fell asleep after supper that night. Her dreams brought her back to that pretty mirror which she had slipped into her apron pocket. It was a simple flat black thing with a frame and a handle that she thought was nice. _When you are all grown up, lassie, the mirror will always show you home_, Chip had said. When Elizabeth looked into it, she saw a boy with the bluest eyes she ever saw, holding a little baby in his arms. The boy was crying. Someone had died … and in her dreams, Elizabeth whispered, "Please do not weep. I'm here."

* * *

**AN: A merger of two classics – ****_Beauty and the Beast_**** and ****_Pride and Prejudice. _****I own nothing of those. Just taking them out for a waltz.**


	3. OF DREAMS AND FLOWERS

**Chapter 2**

* * *

**October 1811, Hertfordshire, England –**

Elizabeth Bennet was glad to be out of the house this early morning for her solitary walk, breathing in the fresh country air and taking in the tranquility of the world still half-asleep. In all her twenty years, never had she needed to re-center herself so much as she had these last few nights, since the onset this past summer of disturbing dreams for her. She sighed. What on earth compelled her to take out that hand mirror for a polish, when she had not done so for many years?

She remembered getting that obsidian mirror when she was four years old, using it rather sporadically. Most times there was nothing there to see, and it was just a plain ordinary mirror … but at other times, with no rhyme or reason to circumstance, she would behold an image. It would always be of the same boy with blue eyes in different scenes, some happy, some not so. One image that disturbed her when she was six years old was when she saw that boy, now a lanky youth, pushed into a lake by another of the same age, then his head forced under water while the other one laughed. The image only lasted for a minute then faded, leaving Lizzy terrified for the boy. She begged the mirror to show her the boy again, but it was over two hours again when an image came up, that of him reading to a small girl. The image made Lizzy smile and washed her with relief. _He _was safe, though looking rather somber. That evening, and many times thereafter, Lizzy would show the mirror to her sister Jane, checking if Jane would perceive something. She never did. Neither did Papa. _The images are just for me, _Lizzy realized, and _I do not know how to feel about that. _She buried the mirror in her treasure chest and for many years did not bring it out, never speaking to anyone about it, either.

When she was fifteen, she took out the mirror again on a whim, and peered into it. The blue-eyed boy was now a man, with a black mourning band around his arm. He held a timid-looking girl in his arms. "Who are you?" Elizabeth whispered. "Why do you keep coming to me?" And again, she hid her mirror away. As curious as she was, she was also frustrated at not having answers. She could still hear a faraway voice. _When you are all grown, lassie, the mirror will always show you home._

Elizabeth remembered all these this morning as she reached Oakham Mount. _I am all grown now, twenty years old, and I still do not know how _that_ can be home when I do not even know the man, _she said to herself. She sat on a boulder and looked down the village below, feeling a melancholia that was almost alien to her. Much of this, Lizzy realized, was rooted to swirling dreams that began and and off with her taking out the mirror again in late June, and this time did not – could not - put it away. There were no happy scenes in all that she saw, and Lizzy knew they were affecting her disposition. _And yet … I feel as if I need to see these. Why?_

They were always of the same person: one had this man angrily pinning another man on the wall (_I have seen that mocking face before!_) while nearby, a young girl was crying, one sleeve of her dress torn but otherwise decent; the other scene had him helplessly pleading with the young girl as she sat before a pianoforte sobbing. Recently, Lizzy saw him stand from a desk in a bookroom somewhere then promptly had his legs fold from under him – that scared Lizzy out of her wits again, until she saw him a few days later in a ballroom but not dancing, simply leaning against the mantle and looking very somber. The images again were short-lived – but they always left Elizabeth with a feeling of … what? Perhaps wanting to offer assurance to the man, somehow? Elizabeth sighed.

"Lizzy! I knew I would find you here!" came the cheerful call of Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth's closest friend next to Jane. "Up a little early, even for you!"

"Good morning, Charlotte," Elizabeth greeted back. "You are one to talk! You are early as well." She yielded space for Charlotte to sit down. "Did you just come from Longbourn?"

Charlotte nodded. "My father joined yours this morning for an inspection of a drainage issue along our border, so I decided to come as well. However," she added with a laugh, "I think that our fathers simply needed each other's fortification against their matchmaking wives." At Lizzy's questioning glance, Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Netherfield Park, Lizzy! It has been let at last … by a rich bachelor who moved in a few days ago! And as your mama loves saying – a single man of fortune must be in …"

"Want of a wife!" the two friends chorused, then laughed together. As they sobered, Lizzy smiled ruefully. "I _did _forget about Netherfield Park. I have been somewhat distracted." She felt that Charlotte was waiting for her to say more, but Lizzy was in no bent to pursue the topic. Instead, she giggled. "Poor Jane. I am certain Mama already has her singled out as the companion of the new Netherfield master's future life."

Charlotte let the evasion stand – for now. Laughing, she replied, "Indeed! My mother is equally determined to put me up for the auction, but if the Bennet sisters are contenders, then I had best withdraw! I cannot win, plain as I am and an old maid, too." Charlotte put her hand up, seeing that her friend was about to protest. "No, no, Lizzy. I truly know what I say, and I do so without rancor at all. I am seven and twenty, past anyone's notion of an attractive age to marry. I probably will remain an old maid and be an honorary auntie to your children, hmm?" She said this with a smile at her companion, which Lizzy returned with a pinched one of her own and a squeeze of Charlotte's hand. Charlotte looked away then and added softly, "What I am truly afraid of is being a burden …"

Elizabeth was quiet for a while – _how does one respond to such musings_? Suddenly, in Lizzy's mind floated images from the mirror. Mr. Blue Eyes. Happy moments. Sad moments. And lately, troubling moments. "Charlotte …" Elizabeth began, "do you ever feel that there is someone for you, just waiting for his life to touch yours? Do you not, in your dreams or even your imaginations, find snippets of a stranger, and somehow you know that one day – no matter how long it takes - you would be given a chance to make a difference in his life, and he in yours?"

Charlotte gazed back at Lizzy, puzzled, and she took a moment to reply. "Perhaps … well, I do not know. I certainly have had no notion of it, perhaps hopes when I was younger and even that is doubtful. But Lizzy, I am not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home." Again she looked away. "Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. And perhaps for some, it never comes."

Lizzy felt a sudden pang – for Charlotte, yes, but admittedly for her too. Thoughts of those piercing eyes assaulted her memory again, and she found herself saying within her heart, _No … no, my chance will come. It must._

The two friends continued to sit quietly as the world below started to bustle, and stood up only when the distinctive voice of Charlotte's affable father Sir Lucas floated to them from the foot of the mount, calling for Charlotte. He was also waving his arms wildly about. Chuckling, Charlotte and Lizzy descended Oakham Mount arm in arm, ready to meet the day.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon, and the landmark town called Meryton at last came into view. Fitzwilliam Darcy was glad to have come. First, he would be fulfilling a promise to his friend Charles Bingley to look over his newly-leased estate and make recommendations for it … and second, perhaps time away from all his pressing concerns would restore him back to full health.

You see, two weeks ago, Fitzwilliam Darcy collapsed.

He simply saw the carpet in his London study rising up to meet his nose one afternoon – or so it seemed. A footman near the door had heard a crash and thud, and found the Master of Pemberley passed out on the floor. The physician was immediately summoned, and after many hours, William finally woke in his bedchamber with no recollection of going there. His closest cousin and friend Nicholas Fitzwilliam sat in an armchair, both concerned and livid. "What were you thinking, William?" he demanded. "Five nights of sleeping at your desk, said your man Henson! Two days of meal trays left untouched, said your housekeeper Mrs. Griffin! And a brandy decanter emptied out, I find! Are you trying to kill yourself?"

William had looked at him irritably. "Must you really prattle, Nicholas?" He tried to get up but was halted by his cousin who brought his angry face close to William's.

"You passed out, man! Passed out, and scared the hell out everyone – including your housekeeper, Georgiana and me! The physician called it extreme exhaustion and stress. Good God, man! Do that again, and I will kill you myself!" And with that, Nicholas sat back and shot a mutinous glare at his cousin. Looking at him, Darcy had an epiphany – two, in fact: first, that he was not invincible, and second, that Nicholas Fitzwilliam, impressive colonel in His Majesty's army, would truly snap him in two at the moment … _with unfettered glee_.

Darcy smiled now. He was lucky to have Nicholas in his life. It was due to the vigilant care of his cousin who colluded with Darcy's steward Mason that William was spared most business decisions these last weeks, and he was put on a regimen of rest, exercise and regular meals – all with exasperating military precision that often set both cousins on a glaring match. Secretly, though – and heaven forbid that Nicholas should ever find out! – Darcy relished the feeling of safety he had with Nicholas. The one miscalculation of the venerable colonel: dragging William to a London ball. Darcy hated that event, with all the cloying females and pansies that absolutely set Darcy's teeth on edge. The evening was a disaster for Darcy, and he never let Nicholas hear the end of it. _Well, I may have exaggerated my displeasure a bit, _William thought with a smirk.

This trip to Hertfordshire was also Nicholas' recommendation. The colonel needed to go back to his unit, but before doing so made William promise to get away for a little while. "William, please … it is time to let go, at least for now, the events of this summer. Wickham will get his due, I promise. But you and Georgiana need to heal. I will bring her to my parents, and the Earl and Countess of Matlock will care for her and have her keep company with my sister Dinah." William knew it to be an excellent idea: lately he and his sister, always so close, had had trouble being comfortable with each other again, both eaten up by guilt in different ways. All because of Wickham …

William closed his eyes against the memory, but it was no use. Recollections just came rolling in. His sister tried to elope … his baby sister … his baby … _with Wickham …!_

"Gah!" William gritted in agitation. Opening his eyes, he saw his valet Henson, who traveled in the same carriage to watch out for him, spring into action for any assistance that may be needed, but Darcy waved his assurance that it was just a passing annoyance that roused him. He forced himself to calm down, and watched the town's quaint shops pass by … in a flash, he was reminded of Lambton village, five miles from Pemberley. That gave his heart a measure of quiet, as he remembered himself as a boy pleasantly lost in exploration of those respectable shops' local wares. _Maybe I will explore these shops as well._

Then and there, seemingly energized by he knew not what but thankful that he had been brought out of doldrums, Darcy decided to walk a couple of blocks in a swift perusal of the town's quaint offerings. He tapped on the carriage's roof to signal for a stop after a brief word to Henson. "Just have the carriage follow me, Clarence," he also told his coachman. "I will not be long."

Darcy _did _find the early autumn air invigorating and the little town surprisingly interesting. He saw several artisan shops that he made a mental note of to visit for a gift for his sister and cousin, various trade establishments, a hat shop, a millinery and modiste he personally had no use for, a confectionery that he might investigate, and a tea and pastry shop strategically placed within a fairly sizeable bookshop. _How unique, _he thought. He considered going in for a while, but he knew he could get lost in there for hours. _Another time._

He was about to walk back to his carriage when he was arrested by footsteps and a woman's cheerful voice by a flower cart near him. "Mrs. Nellis, I am not too late, am I?" the woman asked. "How did the last flower sale of the season do today?" Darcy turned to see just the back of a young woman – a lady, judging by her clothing and her accent – with dark unruly hair escaping out of her bonnet and just about the cheeriest voice he had ever heard.

The flower cart owner sighed. "Oh, well enough, dearie, although I was hoping to sell everything for extra funds for my little Robert's cough. The lad is getting better, mind you … but a little bit more savings would be nice in time for winter, which is coming soon. Then I take up my knitting again."

"Oh ... " said the young woman, "I only have enough money for a little bouquet, Mrs. Nellis. But I just may have brought a bag of fresh-baked biscuits for Robert."

Mrs. Nellis laughed, "Well, for that, Miss Elizabeth, you take the rest of the flowers, or as much as you can. The poor things are going to wilt overnight anyway, if I do not get them in good vases and all."

Miss Elizabeth laughed as well and graciously accepted the kind woman's offer. "Shall I help you put away your cart now, Mrs. Nellis?" she asked, pointing to the bullock cart that just pulled up to transport her floral wares and equipment.

Mrs. Nellis hesitated. "A gentleman's daughter should not be doing this, Miss …"

"I will take the rest of the flowers."

Two pairs of eyes turned to him, and Darcy realized that it was _he _who spoke those last words out loud. _Bugger it, did I say that__?_ He swallowed as unobtrusively as possible, annoyed at his uncharacteristic impetuosity. _Well, _he thought,_ there is nothing to do about it now except move forward._ He rifled through his pockets, and found a guinea he did not even know he had there. "Ahhh … would this be sufficient?" he hesitantly held out the coin to the one called Mrs. Nellis, who stammered out a reply.

"Aye, sire … quite more than enough, truly …" Mrs. Nellis answered breathlessly, then gasped as Mr. Darcy reached out. "Oh …! Pardon me! Such a lovely ring you have, my Lord …! I have never seen the like!"

Darcy looked first at the signet ring he wore on his little finger, but realized that it was his obsidian ring that caught the woman's attention. It was swirling with an explosion of colors, the brightest he had ever seen. At the back of his mind, he heard a soft voice say, _"Where you are loved, William."_

He looked up and saw a pair of dark and luminous eyes upon the face of the young lady, gazing up at him in shock … _and was that recognition?_ And even before he could bow his head in acknowledgment, she gasped.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Mrs. Nellis exclaimed.

The young lady had fainted.


	4. EVER A SURPRISE

**Chapter 3**

"Miss Elizabeth!" cried Mrs. Nellis, and scrambled to get to the other side of her cart to assist Elizabeth who was about to topple over. On gentlemanly instinct, Darcy held out his arms to steady her, but as soon as he touched her, the young lady roused and immediately began to straighten up in embarrassment and with mild protest.

"I do not think you should move just as yet, miss," said Mr. Darcy, tightening his hold on her arms for support. Mrs. Nellis concurred with an urgent, "The young man is right, Miss Elizabeth …"

"No … no, please, I am alright … I just got quite dizzy for a moment, Mrs. Nellis. Please, sir, I assure you I am fine," the young miss insisted to Darcy, trying to gently pull away her arms from where he held her by the elbows. Darcy tried to look into her eyes, mainly to ascertain her truthfulness of being well, but Elizabeth resolutely turned her face away and cast her eyes downward …

"Elizabeth! What happened?" two other young ladies had come running to Miss Elizabeth.

"Jane! Charlotte! I … I … I tripped, and … and … this gentleman helped me up." Standing straight now and dropping her hands away from Darcy's arms, Miss Elizabeth gave a shaky smile to the other ladies, then briefly turned to him for a quick curtsy while speaking rapidly, "Thank you, sir, for your assistance. Mrs. Nellis, I will see you tomorrow. I hope little Robert enjoys the biscuits." Then she walked away to join her friends.

Mrs. Nellis called out, "But your flowers, Miss Elizabeth ...!"

Miss Elizabeth paused, then turned around, and William noted her pink-stained cheeks and trembling lips, as well as her rapidly blinking eyes that he immediately imagined as sparkling at any other time. She breathed in deeply and replied, "Oh … yes, pardon me, Mrs. Nellis." She pressed a coin into the woman's palm and retrieved a bouquet, stealing a very quick glance at Mr. Darcy. Then with another curtsy to both, she turned and walked away, and William saw her hold on tightly to the tall blonde girl with her.

The gentleman watched her leave, feeling oddly displaced with her departure. Then he heard Mrs. Nellis say, "She's a good 'un, is Miss Lizzy. I always try to set aside some of the lavender sprigs for her, as those are her favorite. Now, sir, what would you have me do with the rest of these lovelies?"

* * *

It was a rather bemused Fitzwilliam Darcy who arrived in Netherfield less than an hour later, feeling he had the oddest experience ever in the quaint town of Meryton. And now here he was bearing almost a carriage-full of flowers. His valet Henson sneezed so many times in quick succession in the carriage on the way to Netherfield – so much so that he finally stopped saying "Excuse me, sir," after every sneeze, making Darcy shake his head in part exasperation, part amusement.

Charles Bingley rushed out of the house as soon as their equipage entered the driveway, already bouncing in excitement as he was always wont to do. "Darcy!" Bingley called in greeting as soon as Darcy stepped out, his green eyes twinkling merrily. "I am glad you have come! I trust your journey had been uneventful?"

Darcy smiled. "Er … yes, for the most part."

"Wonderful!" replied Bingley. The two men watched as the servants began to unload Darcy's trunks, and Bingley's eyes got bigger when he saw large bucketfuls of assorted flowers being taken out of the carriage – five of them! "Ahhh … Darcy …." He began to stammer his question.

"Mr. Darcy! You are finally here!" came the rather strident voice of Caroline Bingley. Darcy tried to suppress a groan. _Of all parading peacocks,_ he muttered to himself. Nonetheless, he turned to the woman to give the most polite bow he could muster, only to find her hand already stretched out toward him for a kiss. Darcy looked at it askance for a moment, then gingerly then took the tips of her fingers to daintily shake her hand. The gentleman behind her – a Mr. Dalton Hurst, Bingley's brother-in-law – snickered quietly and coughed to clear out a full-blown laugh. His wife Louisa, Bingley's other sister, glared at him in warning.

Miss Bingley paid no mind, however, and continued to fawn over their latest arrival even as the latter studiously tried to avoid her by greeting Mr. and Mrs. Hurst cordially. Noting the buckets of flowers, Miss Bingley enthused, "Oh, Mr. Darcy, how absolutely dear of you! You have brought me flowers!", and she gave a flirtatious fluttering of eyelashes at the gentleman.

Darcy for his part swallowed back the bile that rose. "Oh! Not quite, Miss Bingley," he said quite plainly to forestall any probable misunderstanding, deliberate or otherwise, "but you are certainly welcome to some, if you desire." Then turning to Bingley by way of an explanation, he added, "I found these in Meryton, Bingley, and could not, ah, stop myself from their purchase. Would you mind having a good portion of them put in my bedchamber? I should like to enjoy their freshness as long as I can. And then the rest of them, Miss Bingley – and Mrs. Hurst - you may distribute around the house as you see fit. Does this suit?" he asked politely, and receiving acknowledgment, he gave a gentlemanly dip of his head.

Darcy had started to walk towards the house with Bingley when he saw Henson wiping his nose with a handkerchief and sneezing again. Seized with a sudden thought, Darcy turned back towards the ladies. "On second thought … would you kindly assign a bouquet in my dressing room as well? Henson truly seems to enjoy the flowers as much as I do, and he cannot wait to be surrounded by them." Maintaining a serious mask, he nonetheless stifled a chuckle as he saw Henson's eyes grow wide with alarm, then light up with a hint of amusement as he shook his head.

Unknown to Mr. Darcy, Henson very much welcomed the little prank from his master. _These last few months have been hard for Mr. Darcy, _he thought_. Perhaps now he is recovering. He is never this playful unless he is with Colonel Fitzwilliam._

An hour later, Darcy sat in his sitting room awaiting the appointed time for supper. The glass of sherry in one hand still had not made it to his lips. He simply sat in quiet contemplation, thinking back to the events of the afternoon and remembering a pair of soulful, dark eyes. He seemed to hear again Mrs. Nellis' question, but this time in a different way, "Now sir, what would you have me do with the lovely?"

She _was_ lovely. William had to admit that she had a most arresting pair of eyes, but it was something else ... something ... that intrigued him. He took one long swig of his sherry, and in doing so his eyes caught the glint of the early evening's candlelight against his obsidian ring. _No wonder Mrs. Nellis took note of it - it _is_ bright and colorful._ Typically black, the obsidian always seemed to come alive at momentous events in his life. _So what is it now?_ As he stood up to put on his dinner jacket, he saw the arrangement of flowers put there by the afternoon maid and he smiled. Quickly, he took a stem of lavender and put it in his pocket and thought to himself, **_now_** _supper will truly be with good company._

* * *

Elizabeth went straight to her bedchamber upon coming home from her afternoon walk from Meryton. For Jane and Charlotte, she had stuck to her story of having tripped beside Mrs. Nellis' flower cart that afternoon, and the gentleman, whose name she did not even know, was simply there to prevent her from an even greater embarrassment. Thankfully, the two other ladies did not question the truth of the matter at all – but neither did they easily let go of the conversation, especially when Charlotte asked rhetorically, "He did not look as though he was from around here. Do you think he is the new master of Netherfield? If he is, then he most certainly is a noble and handsome man, and I for one would love to see him at the Assembly ball on Tuesday." The ladies laughed quietly then, although in Elizabeth's case, it was more forced than real. All she wanted to do was get home and be alone.

_He is here. Oh dear God …_

The eyes that she had seen on and off for sixteen years had come alive in front of her – and while Lizzy had always hoped for the chance to meet the man, deep inside she had already accepted that it would be one of those mysteries that would simply follow her all her life. Being proven wrong, especially in such an innocuous and unexpected way, threw her off kilter somehow.

She wrapped her arms around her, gingerly putting each of her hands where his had been and imagined again the warmth of those hands. Elizabeth remembered the frisson of current that passed through her when the gentleman held her steady, and she wondered what it was. Also, a sudden thought entered Elizabeth's mind: _W__hat if that is not him, after all?_

Perhaps there was a way she could find out. Gingerly locking her bedroom door to ensure complete privacy, Lizzy went to her nightstand. Pulling open a drawer, she carefully brought out the obsidian hand mirror, forcing herself to concentrate and steady her trembling hand, as well as desperately hoping that the mirror would allow her a glimpse. She breathed deeply before peering into it, and slowly ….

_The man in the mirror sat there, deep in thought, with a glass of wine in one hand. He paused a while as he gulped down his drink, then stood up and donned his dinner jacket. He reached for a sprig of lavender on a sideboard and put it in his pocket, during which Lizzy made careful note of the ring on his finger to see if it was the same unique ring that Mrs. Nellis observed. It was. Lizzy also recognized the wainscot molding by the sideboard. It was Netherfield._

Then the image was gone. _My Mr. Blue Eyes is here, _Elizabeth said to herself, _i__n Hertfordshire. _She promptly sank into her bed in shock, hearing, in the far reaches of her memory, a voice telling her, _"The mirror, lassie, will always show you HOME."_

And Lizzy realized she had no idea what that meant at all.

* * *

Miles away, a disgruntled militiaman continued the brushing of his standard militia boots, each stroke getting more vigorous as anger simmered within him. Surely this was not how his life was supposed to turn out at all! Was he not supposed to be a man of leisure by now, with a young innocent wife with thirty thousand pounds to her name? Damn that Fitzwilliam Darcy!

Better yet, was he not supposed to be the heir of that vast estate in Derbyshire, after an entire lifetime of pandering to that old man's whims and spilling out every manner of charm possible? _Curses to those Darcys!_ _Nothing in my life is right because of them!_

Occupied then with mental invectives against the family he felt wronged him, he was startled to hear his name called out by another of the militia. "Wickham! Hurry now, will ya? This is our last weekend at this post, man, and we want to take stock of the entertainment at the local tavern!" There followed a round of ribald laughter and teasing among the men, to which George Wickham rolled his eyes with a snort. _And now I have to make do with cheap company, cheap wine and even cheaper women ... when I could have had the pick of the Ton's finest! Gah!_

Still, four hours later, a heavily inebriated and unkempt George Wickham was lewdly burying his nose in the décolletage of one of the tavern's servers whom he had pulled onto his lap, and one of his hands was already doing its best to unfasten his breeches. The incensed woman was able to get away with a strong shove at the drunken officer, but not after being subjected to debauched pawing and groping from him, after which she was released with a lecherous grin.

Even the other men shook their heads at him. "Come, come, Wickham, tis too much now!" they cried, although their disapproval was much tempered by their coarse laughter as well.

"Bah!" exclaimed the thoroughly glazed officer. "Just takin' my due, man! I could've had much more if I was handed my proper inheritance, is all! Hah!" He took a huge gulp of the tavern ale. As he put down his mug, he muttered venomously. "Damned Fitzwilliam Darcy. A pox upon his bollocks!"

And so within him George Wickham again let fester all the resentment and spite he had held for years against that name so despised, while around him swirled all the raucous joking of drunken men. Vaguely, he heard someone ask airily, "So, men … (hiccup) where again are we headed to after we (hiccup) dismantle camp five days hence? Some town called what in where? I think (hiccup) tis a place called Merriman."

"Meryton, you runt," laughed one of his companions with a rummy hiccup of his own. "Somewhere in Her'fordshire. And we (hiccup) are gon'ta have a great time."

George Wickham snorted with derision. _Another backwater place, I wager._ He drowned himself once more in the hazy gift of the ale as he tried to grab the bosom of another passing tavern girl.


	5. A BIT OF GROVELING

**Chapter 4**

Elizabeth walked briskly through the corridors of the assembly building, hoping to find a quiet room where she could calm herself and get her breathing back to normal. _He_ had come – the Mr. Blue Eyes of her dreams – and he was the rudest, most infuriating man she ever had the displeasure of meeting!

"Not tolerable enough to tempt him, he says!" Elizabeth muttered heatedly. "Hah! Well, neither is he. From now on, I resolve to think no more of him! Hateful, hateful man! I should throw that mirror away!" And she continued perusing all the rooms only to find them full of other attenders. Irritated, Lizzy decided to step outside of the building into the cool dark night which, she figured, would help with her flushed skin and stinging cheeks.

In truth, Elizabeth was more than a little frazzled. She was disappointed. She was hurt. She felt like crying. She felt as though someone had taken an axe to her dreams and shattered them into a million little pieces … and the worst part of it all was that she could almost blame herself for having unrealistic expectations. But still … she had hoped that he would at least … be a friend, perhaps? She relived the conversation she overheard just a while ago with his friend Mr. Bingley, the new master of Netherfield, as she was sitting not far from where they stood.

_"Come, Darcy,'' said a smiling Mr. Bingley, "I must have you dance."_

_"I certainly shall not," Mr. Darcy replied."You know how I detest it … and at such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. There is not one in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.''_

_"I daresay you would be proven wrong. I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and some, you see, are uncommonly pretty.''_

_"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,'' said Mr. Darcy without even turning._

_"Yes, she is beautiful, is she not?" Bingley enthused. "But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, also very pretty. Come, I will bring you up for an introduction.''_

_"Which do you mean now, Charles?'' Darcy said resignedly, and looked for a moment at the direction of Lizzy, his eyes burning with annoyance - but just as quickly, he frowned again at his companion and said, "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men." _

Lizzy wiped away tears that had found their way onto her cheeks. She had not even wanted to attend this particular assembly to begin with, telling her parents that she had been inordinately tired the last few weeks. In reality, she was nervous about meeting her man in the mirror again. Mama, however, refused to heed her excuses. "You will never be as pretty as Jane, Lizzy, but I am sure you can catch the eye of somebody, at least … oh Lizzy, if you would but try!"

And so there it was. The pronouncement of her mother about her inferior looks stung more than usual, for some reason, but nonetheless, it served as the impetus for Elizabeth to prepare more fastidiously than ever before. Not to "catch the eye of somebody", oh no … but simply to assure herself – as she intrinsically was not a vain creature – that _he_ at least would find her interesting enough for a conversation. Or a dance.

And she got neither from him. Elizabeth's eyes filled with unbidden tears. To hear a similar pronouncement from him as that which always came from her mother pierced her more than she would care to admit. Now, in the silence of the autumn night, a sob slipped out of her throat which she tried to swallow back. _Why should I even care? It is not as if I know the man._

But even as she said that, her mind kept reverting to all she had seen through the years through the mirror, albeit only in quick snatches. Had she not witnessed pain and sorrow overshadowing joy in his eyes - and was she not an audience to his gentleness with a young girl evidently under his care? Even on occasion, had she not seen the shyness and uncertainty in his eyes, especially in the early years? And just last week, right in the flesh, did she not experience the man's kindness to Mrs. Nellis (who later told her that it was the gentleman himself who loaded her flower cart onto the bullock cart, with the help of one of his men)? These things simply do not line up with an offensive nature. _"I am in no humor at present,"_ he had said, _"to give consequence to young ladies slighted by other men."_

"Slighted by other men, indeed!" huffed Elizabeth. She was always a popular dance partner in assemblies, but tonight there was a shortage of men in the ball – and she _did _leave a spot, just in case …. Churlishly, Lizzy puffed out her breath. _No. I will resolve to forget his shocking rudeness, and treat him as an indifferent acquaintance. Tonight is made for enjoyment … and enjoy myself I shall._ Thus fortified, Elizabeth breathed in deeply as she straightened up, patted into place a usually ungovernable coil of hair, and with her head held high, went back to the dance hall to have the best night of her life.

* * *

_Where is she? _Fitzwilliam Darcy thought in consternation. _She has been gone a long time._

Darcy knew he had no right to get concerned, considering how inexcusably he behaved, but he could not help it. He was stupidly offensive – he knew that! – and he would willingly kick himself many times over for having insulted the one person he actually looked forward to seeing this evening. He grimaced. There just was no escape from it, he did let his temper get the better of him that he did not even pay attention to anything. He was at the height of his frustration with Miss Bingley who for the last three days had been unceasing in her outrageous flirtations with him (and even Mrs. Hurst last night tried to brush her foot against his leg!), and who had purposely made them late for the assembly that she may get a "dramatic entrance". He was near his retching point when for the umpteenth time that night, Miss Bingley held on to his arm, bringing it so close to her bosom no matter how hard he braced, that she would "accidentally" brush his arm against her nipple. He felt truly incensed when at every turn in the ballroom, all he heard was "ten thousand a year". He could stand none of that any longer. He was actually on his way out for a breath of fresh air when Charles Bingley happened upon him and pressured him to dance. And thus came one of the few times when the Master of Pemberley lost control. "Go back to your partner, Charles," he had gritted. "You are wasting your time with me."

All too late, he heard a sharp intake of breath and saw Miss Elizabeth's face fall _(yes, it _was_ Miss Elizabeth, you pudding-head numbskull! _he scolded himself) and he was immediately remorseful. When she stood from her chair to walk past him and he caught a whiff of lavender, he wanted desperately to follow … but seemingly out of nowhere came Miss Bingley's talons digging into his arm once more.

"We are a long way from Grosvenor Square, are we not, Mr. Darcy?" she said in saccharine tones.

As she again pulled his arm towards her target, he immediately pulled back, this time more vigorously so as not to mistake his meaning. Then he firmly unfastened her fingers from his arm, and with a cold glare he replied, "I fear it follows me wherever I go, Miss Bingley." Barely holding on to civility, he snapped a bow and left to enter the corridor where he saw Miss Elizabeth pass earlier, and was extremely disappointed to not find her there.

He stood now at one side of the large room, eyes alert only for Miss Elizabeth (and Miss Bingley, as he planned for constant evasion) and oblivious to the glances thrown his way by the ladies who hoped against hope they would be requested for a dance by him. However, at one point, he happened in on a conversation between a woman and a man, advanced in years, and Darcy unabashedly pricked his ears to listen.

"Well, dear, I heard that he insulted Miss Elizabeth as not good-looking enough to dance with," said the woman.

"The second of Ashton Bennet's daughters?" came the man's reply. "No! Well, he will not score popularity points around 'ere! Miss Lizzy is one of the most loved of the young misses around – not to mention one of the prettiest! Of course, not half as pretty as you, my Rosella!" Amid the couple's affectionate teasing, Fitzwilliam Darcy swore to rectify the situation. It would not do well, would it, to be thought of so meanly by Charles' neighbors?

Finally, Darcy saw Miss Elizabeth come in. Their eyes met immediately across the room, and Darcy saw the almost imperceptible lift of her head as though challenging him. _I have a bit of groveling to do, _Darcy supposed, and began to walk thoughtfully towards her. Before he got there, however, she was whisked to the next dance, and Darcy could do naught but watch her silently all throughout. This happened two more times – at every attempt to approach her, he would be sidelined by Charles, or the Hursts, or worst of the lot, Miss Bingley, or Miss Elizabeth would be partnered in a dance.

He was beginning to despair when finally, he saw Miss Elizabeth in a circle of conversation with her mother, her elder sister and Bingley. Resolutely, Darcy approached them, coming from the side with Miss Elizabeth's back turned toward him.

"… and that put paid to it," Miss Elizabeth was saying cheerfully. "I wonder who discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love."

"Ah!" Charles countered laughingly. "But I have always heard that poetry_ is_ the food of love." Bingley looked behind Miss Elizabeth, "Darcy, what would _you_ say encourages affection?"

Darcy saw Miss Elizabeth stiffen, but did not turn toward him. He moved to where he could more easily see the lady's face, although after a quick look at him, she glanced somewhere else – anywhere – but him. "Dancing," he replied, fixing his gaze on her. "Even if the man is rude and barely tolerable."

Surprised, Elizabeth lifted her eyes to his, and was astounded to read an apology there. Tentatively, she gazed back, and her wit re-asserting itself, she added, "And even if the lady is an eavesdropper of conversations she does not even understand, perhaps?"

They all stood there, the rest of the party barely cognizant of the real topic of conversation, least of all Mrs. Bennet. The matriarch looked back and forth at them confusedly. She was about to say something, but much to Elizabeth's relief, her youngest sister Lydia came bouncing up excitedly to Mrs. Bennet, bearing news of the militia's arrival in Meryton next week. At the same time, Bingley sought to break the ice by announcing that he was to get refreshments, and invited Miss Bennet to come. Once they were gone, the orchestra began to play, and word buzzed around them that it was to be the last set of the night. Suddenly, Elizabeth felt anxious about a repetition of the evening's earlier perturbation, and hardly knew what to do.

"Miss Elizabeth, are you engaged for the last set?" Darcy's voice came soft and low. Elizabeth hesitated quite obviously, and Darcy hurriedly filled in the pause. "Please … I would truly like to know that I have been forgiven. It has been a very rough night, Miss Elizabeth, but one word from you will silence …"

"Mr. Darcy," Lizzy cut in. "I waver only for your sake. This is the last dance of the night, and you have not danced with anyone outside of your own party. There will be talk." She looked meaningfully at her would-be partner. True to form, Darcy himself hesitated, and Elizabeth could see him weighing carefully what she said. Finally, he spoke.

"They have been talking about me all evening, Miss Elizabeth. At least this would give them something else to say aside from `ten thousand a year' and that I insulted one of Hertfordshire's finest citizens. Please," he offered her his arm, and smiled a little, "unless you truly cannot abide a boor."

Elizabeth then smiled and issued a challenge. "Well," she said, "let us see if this boor improves on acquaintance. Perhaps he will explain to me what it was that made his tongue run away with him."

As Mr. Darcy led Elizabeth onto the dance floor, already beginning his explanation, many looked upon them in astonishment. Mrs. Bennet herself was astounded. "Well!" she exclaimed. "I thought he did not even like her! Were there not whispers of an insult earlier?"

Lady Lucas, standing beside her friend, laughed. She genuinely liked Miss Elizabeth. "I suppose we misheard, then." She gave a rueful sigh. "Well, Mrs. Bennet, it seems you are the unequivocal victor among hopeful mothers this evening, hmm?"

Mrs. Bennet was not really sure what to think, but upon seeing the look of wonder and admiration of everyone in the room as they beheld the unexpected pair in the dance line, she did what any matchmaking momma would do.

She preened.


	6. THE WRONG SIDE OF TINGLY

**Chapter 5**

In the weeks following the Assembly, Fitzwilliam Darcy saw much of Elizabeth Bennet, sometimes by design (as those social calls made to Longbourn with Bingley and invitations to tea or such), and some quite by happenstance, as when he would come upon her during his early morning rides. William relished discovering her to be an extensive reader and her opinions on various subjects insightful and well-articulated, even if sometimes contrary to his own (and he suspected sometimes only to engage him in a battle of wits!). It was quite a refreshing experience for him, to be honest, as he remembered the insipid ladies of the Ton who could form no original thought of their own. He began to see as well why Miss Elizabeth was described, as he overheard during the ball, as one of the "most loved of the misses around" – he found the young woman one morning on her way to church on a Friday morning for her weekly gathering of the village children's reading lessons and joined her in her walk.

"You are teaching children to read?" Mr. Darcy asked incredulously.

Elizabeth's eyebrows arched at him, and for some absurd reason, William wanted to laugh. "As I said, Mr. Darcy," she said mock sardonically. "Is there something wrong with teaching the little ones, sir? Even simple folk need a chance to better themselves."

Instantly, William felt abashed. "Oh, I do not mean at all that they do not deserve that opportunity, because they do! I simply … did not expect it, is all …. Not many daughters of gentlemen in my experience care half as much, I suppose, and I am very glad that you do." He paused a while, somewhat lost in a memory, and quietly added, "My mother used to do the same thing with the tenants' children."

This was the first time Elizabeth heard him say anything about his family, and picking up on her desire to know more, asked, "And she is no longer able to?"

"No," came the soft reply. "She died when I was twelve years old."

"I am sorry."

Mr. Darcy smiled sadly but said nothing, and Elizabeth felt her heart reach out to him. She may find her mother exasperating at times, but Elizabeth knew her to be a good woman who loved her children, and Elizabeth could not imagine being without her from such an early age.

"And … your father?" she inquired in soft tones.

"Gone these past five years."

_Such burdens for one so young, _Elizabeth realized. And suddenly she remembered an image she saw in the mirror when she was fifteen – a younger Mr. Darcy donning a mourning band, comforting a young girl of perhaps about ten. _His sister. _Feeling compassion well within her, Elizabeth whispered almost to herself, "So it is just your sister and yourself, then. Oh, Mr. Darcy …"

Mr. Darcy stopped walking all of a sudden and looked sharply at Elizabeth. "I did not realize I ever told you about my sister, Miss Elizabeth." There crept a flint edge into his voice that was not there before, although Lizzy suspected that Mr. Darcy tried to rein it in, for her sake.

Elizabeth's heart quivered as she stood in front of Mr. Darcy. _How could I have made a careless mistake? How do I explain about the mirror?_ "Mr. Darcy, I … I …"

"How do you know about my sister, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Miss Bingley mentioned her." _Liar, _she chided herself. _You know Miss Bingley never deigned to speak to you about anything …. _Mr. Darcy continued to stare at Elizabeth, as if searching for something there. Elizabeth tried to hold his gaze, but before she could flounder, she swallowed and again said, albeit shakily, "Mr. Darcy …"

"Your eyes show your soul, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said quietly, and what he meant by that Elizabeth had no idea. After another long pause, her companion sighed and added, "Very well. I shall inquire no further. But please, Miss Elizabeth, for friendship's sake, I should like to believe that there are no prevarications between us, and that _you know _you can tell me anything. This cannot be an unreasonable request ... no?"

Elizabeth gazed at those very familiar blue eyes and slowly nodded. "Please, Mr. Darcy, I truly mean no harm, and I ..." she was at a loss for words, and finally just made do with a sigh. "You are right, there should be no _unreasonable_ barrier between friends, so I will ... try ... to be open with you as much as I _reasonably_ can." They stood there looking at each other for a moment longer, exchanging small smiles - and suddenly, Elizabeth realized that her heart was beating wildly against her chest. _Why does he have such an effect on me?_

For his part, Darcy was thinking of how in so short a time he had come to value her as a person. _I would hate so much for anything to get between our being friends, and yet I cannot help but feel that she is not telling me something …. _Quickly, he shook away the feeling, determined to trust wholeheartedly this young woman whom he had just called his friend – when quite suddenly, he felt a different kind of prickle at the back of his neck … a sense of danger. He had had this feeling a few times before, and instinctively he looked down at his ring. Gone were the swirling colors. This time it was all smoky gray and fathomless black.

_I am being watched, _he said to himself. He quickly looked around to try to determine the source but saw no one in particular whose attention seemed fixed on him. There were the shops bustling with business, a few militia men who had arrived in Meryton about a week ago, a few stable boys leading horses for their masters … but none, truly, that warranted suspicion.

"Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked, noting the change on his countenance. "Is something the matter?"

"I … am not certain, Miss Elizabeth, I just felt something, or someone …"

"Hateful …" Elizabeth said in a hushed voice.

"Dangerous," Darcy finished.

"I feel it too," she whispered.

But all too soon – or perhaps not – the sensation passed. Darcy and Elizabeth stood there a trifle uncertainly; Elizabeth had unknowingly stepped closer to Mr. Darcy and the latter had stood rigid and watchful beside her, and was about to suggest that they return her to Longbourn when they heard someone call Elizabeth. It was Mr. Thiessen, the parish rector.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, and Lizzy whirled around to face him, jumping just a little. "Some of the children are already inside. Do come out of the chill."

"Mr. Thiessen," Lizzy breathed with a laugh, "you startled me. Yes, I will be there." She made the introduction to Mr. Darcy, adding, "Mr. Darcy was kind enough to walk me to church this morning for my lesson with the children."

Mr. Thiessen reached out his hand – reluctantly, it seemed to Darcy – to shake his. "I see." He then turned to Elizabeth, "Well, Miss Elizabeth, I suppose we had better start. We only have a few more sessions before we break for winter. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Darcy." Mr. Thiessen took Elizabeth by the elbow and proceeded to lead her to into the building.

"I shall stay." Mr. Darcy's voice was low and his statement was in a tone that brooked no opposition. Elizabeth looked up at him and said not a word. _I know why he is doing this, and I … I am thankful._

Mr. Thiessen hesitated. "It will be an hour, sir … surely too long to ..."

"I shall stay." He knew he did not imagine the quick look of annoyance on the vicar's face that was quickly replaced by a placid smile.

_His eyes are too shifty, _Darcy thought, even as he wondered if his imagination was getting away with him because of his earlier sensation of threat.

"Very well, sir." He called a church servant to take care of Mr. Darcy's horse, and Darcy quickly followed Miss Elizabeth and the rector into the building where he sat in an out of the way pew. Miss Elizabeth began her lesson with about eight children. As Mr. Thiessen exited the great room to take care of parish business, he looked towards Mr. Darcy and gave a terse nod. Darcy sat in the shadowed pew of the respectable, well-kept building, and he looked down at his ring and saw it was back to a quiet, solid obsidian. _The danger has passed, _he said to himself. _For now._

* * *

On the other side of the thoroughfare across from the small village church, Caroline Bingley had been perusing the meager offerings of the pathetic excuse for a milliner's shop - _nothing to the elegant wares in Bond Street, _she said disgustedly – when she happened to look outside the display window. Her eyes blazed with anger when she saw Mr. Darcy and that crass, dark-eyed slut Elizabeth Bennet standing in the churchyard face to face, conversing deeply. _How dare she even consider that Mr. Darcy would be interested in her – she has none of the elegance that a man of Mr. Darcy's station needs! _She had half a mind to step up to them and bring that Miss Eliza down a peg or two, especially when she saw the wretched girl inch closer to Mr. Darcy's side, her body almost touching his arm. _Disgusting wench._

"He is being ridiculous," intoned Louisa Hurst thoughtfully, and Caroline saw that her sister was looking at the same thing she was.

Caroline paused for dramatic effect. "It is not Mr. Darcy's fault, Louisa. It is that hateful girl's, and how she always flaunts herself." There was a pause. "Maybe I should approach them …"

"No." She looked briefly at her sister, then back again. "You will get your chance."

And before they could be seen by Mr. Darcy who appeared to be looking around, they moved away from the window, back to deriding the store's wares so vehemently that the shopkeeper's wife simply asked them to leave.

* * *

He caught a surprising glimpse of Darcy's tall frame from the mercantile window where he and his friends were getting a few supplies, necessary or otherwise. At first the man could not understand what Fitzwilliam Darcy would be doing outside of London in such a small town as Meryton – it just seemed all too incongruous for someone of Darcy's stature – until he learned from the proprietor of the mercantile that he was here as a guest of the newest member of the community, a certain Mr. Bingley. He then stood by the window in watchful contemplation, and noted that Darcy was with a young woman. A pretty little woman, thought he, as his lusty eyes raked over her form, concentrating on her well-developed bosom. He smirked lasciviously.

"Wickham! Get a move on, man!" someone – a fellow lieutenant named Carter - hissed beside him. "What are you standing there for?"

"Eh, shut up, man. I will move when I am good and ready. Now go away," he replied roughly, and shifted to another position where he could get a better view of Darcy and his lady. Wickham looked at him intently, his years of hatred toward the man finding outlet in his eyes. _Fitzwilliam Darcy, you bastard. You stole everything from me. EVERYTHING! But you will pay. You ... will ... pay._

He stepped back from the window when he saw Darcy look around as if looking for something. Wickham did not want to be seen … not yet, preferring the revelation to be on his own terms, schedule and purpose. Again, he watched the girl beside Darcy and noted with interest the protective, even possessive, stance that Darcy had as he stood close to her. His brows arched a little when he saw a look of fear cross over her face – _is she afraid of Darcy?_

_Perhaps I can use this, _Wickham thought_. I can hurt Darcy where it would give him the most pain and – _watching the woman's bosom heave up and down – _myself the most pleasure. _And with a satisfied smile, he pushed himself from the window and went to join his companions in their short walk back to militia camp, with thoughts swirling around his brain.

_Revenge_, he said to himself,_ is sweet._

* * *

Three days later on his usual morning ride, Darcy brought his steed Gillebride to a gentle canter after a particularly spirited run. "You never disappoint, Gillebride old boy," he said, affectionately patting the beast on its neck as they turned toward the Netherfield stables. Straightening up, however, a sudden chill coursed through Darcy ... and within a second, Gillebride reared with a furious neigh. Darcy pulled on the reins, but Gillebride bucked and Darcy was hurled violently to the ground and rolled under the hooves of the agitated stallion. Darcy tried to swerve as one of the hooves came bearing down on him, but too late as Gillebride unwittingly got one side of his head – just a graze, yes, but enough to knock the senses out of him. As blackness took over, Darcy had two last thoughts.

Someone had fired a pistol ... TWICE. And someone in red had sprinted away from the hedges just yonder.


	7. SHATTERED

**Chapter 6**

"Sir!"

Netherfield's stable hand that morning had been brushing down one of Mr. Bingley's carriage horses when he heard gunshots and a commotion down the lane leading to the stalls. Immediately dropping his brush and little bucket of apples, he rushed out to investigate, and was shocked to see Mr. Darcy on the ground some ways away. "Mr. Darcy!" he exclaimed, running to kneel beside his still form. "Oh my God ... sir, I go get help!"

He entered the Netherfield house by the side door to the kitchen, all huffing and puffing, and immediately related as best as he could what, or whom, he found by the lane. Mrs. Nichols, the efficient Netherfield housekeeper, at once started giving orders: for Darcy's man Henson to be told of the development and requested to go to his master at once; for the apothecary to be fetched posthaste; and for blankets to be brought to the incident site to keep Mr. Darcy warm while they determine if the gentleman could be moved. "And pray, get my own Papa as well. He may have retired from being an army surgeon, but he can still tell us how to help Mr. Darcy. Quickly!"

And so with everyone dispatched to various assignments, Mrs. Nichols went to the breakfast parlor where she knew Mr. Bingley would be, in order to inform him of the incident herself. To her surprise, Mr. _and _Mrs. Hurst (the latter being a typically late riser as her sister) were already there, along with the master. Mrs. Hurst looked up when Mrs. Nichols entered the room to immediately grumble.

"Mrs. Nichols, does there really have to be such a ruckus in the kitchen on such an early hour? Truly, you must learn to perform your duties with the best of decorum!"

The housekeeper bit back her retort, backed by her impeccable training. "Forgive me, Mrs. Hurst, but there has been an incident." Turning to Mr. Bingley, she asked, "Mr. Bingley, sir, could you perhaps spare a moment?"

Mr. Bingley barely looked up from the correspondence he was reading and replied absently, "That's quite alright, Mrs. Nichols. Whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of my brother and sister – I have to finish reading these business missives before Darcy comes so we may discuss …"

"That is what I have to tell you, sir," Mrs. Nichols hurriedly said, then pausing awhile for a brief glance at the married couple, she began her report. "Mr. Bingley, I'm afraid that Mr. Darcy was found this morning by the stable hand – down by the carriage lane, sir." There followed a twofold gasp - Bingley and Louisa, while Mr. Hurst paused in eating his muffin – and Mrs. Nichols quickly continued her narration, "He was hurt badly, and his horse nowhere to be found … I have called for assistance, Mr. Bingley, and both the apothecary and my father the surgeon should be here shortly. Mr. Henson must be at the site now, and I thought you would like to go as well."

"My God! Yes, yes …! Thank you, Mrs. Nichols," Bingley said agitatedly, jumping right to his feet to leave the room. His sister tried to call him back, herself in tumult, but Charles was not paying any heed to her at the moment. Trembling, Louisa Hurst turned to the housekeeper.

"Mr. Darcy … is he … ah, will he … I only meant ..." she began, but was unable to continue, as she swooned onto the lap of her husband who was seated beside her, eliciting a gasp of surprise from Mrs. Nichols, and an exclamation from Mr. Hurst as he spilled his coffee.

"Dammit, Louisa ...! Aaargh!" he growled, as he tried to get his wife to sit upright with the assistance of Mrs. Nichols. "You, footman! Bring Mrs. Hurst to the drawing room, and set her on the sofa. I will be there shortly!" And as the footman at once saw to the orders, Mr. Hurst muttered under his breath, "Jesus, Louisa, what have you wrought now?"

* * *

Elizabeth always found great enjoyment in her occasional encounters with Mr. Darcy on her early morning walks. This morning did not provide such enjoyment, and truth be told, she was torn between disappointment and relief. Since three days ago, that gentleman had been too much on her mind, and she was not quite sure if she liked it. Esteem him she knew she did, for his knowledge on a broad range of subjects was extensive, and she enjoyed hearing and learning about many things. But what of the other things that consistently happened to her whenever he was near? Those maddening heart thumps, her hitched breaths when he would first appear, the inability to lock her eyes onto his especially when he was smiling, blushes she always tried to control but could not, all her daydreaming … Elizabeth sighed. _It is no use, _she said to herself. _The gentleman is quite entrenched in my head for now, for some mischievous reason of circumstance._

As such, Elizabeth truly considered it to be the better part of wisdom to put away the mirror for now. Not only was it making her veer her thoughts much too much to Mr. Darcy, but it would not do for a lady to spy on the gentleman (even if the mirror was temperamental at best) she had assiduously called her friend, would it? Not at all. Elizabeth sighed. That mirror had given her enough restless nights as it was, and her sister Jane, bless her heart, had agreed to keep it with her, surprised at Elizabeth's insistence that she keep it safe. "It is such a plain, tired-looking thing, Lizzy," she complained, "and I truly do not care for it much, but if you really want me to keep it for now …" Elizabeth replied that she would, and she had not seen the mirror since the night of the Assembly.

_The mirror. _Not for the first time since her restive summer did Elizabeth wonder about the origin or purpose of the magical mirror. More and more was she becoming convinced that she had been chosen for _something … but what? And why? _It could not have been coincidence that she had met, and was actually now friends with, the man she had been witnessing (through the mirror) for years, could it? However much Elizabeth tried to wrap her mind around it, she just could not come up with an answer ... but she knew – somehow - that she would sense exactly _when _the mirror was needed, and it was not now.

The Longbourn manor came into view as Elizabeth rounded the corner. The servants were now in the thick of their daily preparations, and Elizabeth smiled at the thought of their housekeeper Mrs. Hill's delicious crepes which were to be served at breakfast today (_at my request, _thought Elizabeth smugly_, as Mrs. Hill does love to humor me). _She was just about to go in the house through the back door when she was urgently pulled back by someone, causing Elizabeth to jerk defensively.

"Jane!" she gasped. "Pray, do not do that! You scared me half to death!"

"I'm sorry, Lizzy ... I did not mean to," whispered Jane. "But, please, would you come with me, Lizzy? I have to show you something," she added, and gently but firmly pulled her younger sister's arm towards the outer part of the garden despite Lizzy's mild protests.

"Jane, where are you tak … oh!" Elizabeth suddenly stopped in surprise. Standing there near the vegetable greenhouse of the Longbourn manor was one proud, magnificent stallion, one that Elizabeth instantly recognized as Mr. Darcy's own. "Gillebride? What are you doing here? Where is your master?" She went up to take the horse as placidly as she could by the reins, so as not to startle the animal. Elizabeth glanced at her sister. "Jane … what is going on?"

Jane helplessly shrugged her shoulders and threw her sister a puzzled look as well. "I hardly know, Lizzy. I just found him here. It was the oddest feeling that I got when I was fixing my hair in front of your mirror," she said and then asked after a pause, "This is Mr. Darcy's horse that he rides every morning?" Elizabeth nodded worriedly. "Where can he be then?"

Elizabeth whispered half to herself. "Gillebride … what in heaven's name happened?" Turning to Jane, "We need to find out, Jane. We need to bring Gillebride back to Netherfield, and we can inquire there. We would not appear intrusive, would we?"

Jane's eyes then looked thoughtful. "I just might have a plan. Come, Lizzy." She took Lizzy's hand again and brought her inside the house.

As Lizzy allowed herself to be led by her eldest sister, her concern for Mr. Darcy grew. _Oh, I must see him…! Jane said she got that feeling when she was using the mirror, but she must not have seen anything. But the mirror will work with me! _

"Jane …" she began a little hesitantly, "you said you felt odd when you were using the mirror ...?"

"Yes, I did ... it was like a strong push to for me to get down here." Jane then stopped in her tracks and looked at Elizabeth quite sheepishly. "Oh Lizzy," she breathed. "I am sorry. In my hurry to get behind the house this morning, I dropped the mirror. It broke." At Lizzy's dismayed gasp, Jane continued. "But it is only a gash, see. You can still use it … your image will just be a little … disfigured …"

Elizabeth gaped at her sister incredulously, if not helplessly, and for the first time in her life, wanted to shake her beloved Jane by the shoulders and cry, though nothing, really, was her dear sister's fault.

* * *

Darcy's valet Henson sighed in relief. His master was going to be alright – though he probably would have a splitting headache and various other discomforts from a possible concussion (according to the physician Mr. Rush, former army surgeon retired these past ten years, and father to Netherfield's housekeeper Mrs. Nichols), but no broken bones from the fall. There was that nasty cut by the side of the head … Mr. Jones the apothecary had already prepared and labeled draughts for the gentleman to take in case of vomiting, or fever, or various other symptoms.

Henson looked at his employer's sleeping form sadly. He worried about Mr. Darcy sometimes – he had been his valet ever since the young man needed one, and like many in Mr. Darcy's employ, he was staunchly loyal to the gentleman. _Too many heavy burdens borne on your shoulders already, when you are still so young … _Henson sighed. "What happened, sir?" he said just under his breath as he re-arranged the sheets around his sleeping employer. "The stable hand said something about two gunshots …"

Much surprised was he when Mr. Darcy stirred and murmured something. Henson leaned closer to his master to listen, but no other sound was forthcoming. He straightened up once more and silently vowed that he would do what it took to find out if anyone tried to hurt Mr. Darcy, and once he discovered anything of consequence, he would consider writing to Colonel Fitzwilliam. After all, he had a promise to keep.

As he began to set the room to rights, picking up all the materials that the surgeon had used, Mr. Darcy stirred again and murmured. Henson paused as Mr. Darcy kept on mumbling, and finally the words were a little clearer.

"Gunshots … Elizabeth. Must keep her safe. Must keep Elizabeth safe … love her. Ring will protect ..." and Mr. Darcy released a sigh. _"Love her."__  
_

Henson froze. Although he had observed the master's growing friendship with the young woman, he did not think Mr. Darcy would admit his feelings so easily, even to himself. Was he talking about an engagement ring? _Oh sir, please wake up soon. _And now there was a safety issue involved. _Oh cripes,_ Henson winced. _What am I to do now?_

* * *

Three miles away in Longbourn, Elizabeth held the obsidian in her hands, relieved that it was not really shattered as Jane thought it was. This astounded Jane. "I really thought I broke it, Lizzy," she said, "I thought I even saw the gash. But I am glad I was wrong. Here, you may take it back."

Lizzy did not respond to her sister's wonderment – she knew the mirror was special. She simply kissed Jane's cheek after a whispered "Thank you", then retreated to her bedchamber for privacy. She trembled as she gazed into the mirror, praying as never before … and she beheld an image.

_Mr. Darcy was on his bed with a bandaged head. His eyes were closed but his mouth was moving. His valet – Mr. Henson – leaned towards him and spoke too, then straightened up the bedding around his master and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder._

The image faded, and Elizabeth sank on the floor beside her bed in relief. _He is safe, _she said to herself, _but hurt. _Elizabeth suddenly burst into tears and sobbed quietly into her hands for a few minutes. _Let_ _him be alright. Please, God._

And she took a deep breath to finally admit what she had been denying to herself. _I have fallen in love with my man in the mirror._


	8. WICKHAM

**Chapter 7**

"I am not certain you should be doing this, Jane," Mrs. Bennet said, suspiciously eyeing the huge beast that Jane was going to mount. "That _thing_ looks awfully fierce, do you not think? I know you are a capable horsewoman, but that … that … _thing … _is just so … so … monstrous. You might get hurt, child."

Elizabeth wanted to laugh at her mother's blabbering. Still, she was gratified that Mrs. Bennet truly was concerned for her daughter's welfare, and not just intent on getting Jane to Netherfield, in response to Miss Bingley's invitation yesterday to join her for luncheon today, a Monday. When Jane first proposed taking Mr. Darcy's horse to return it to him, her mother pronounced it a brilliant idea. "We would not want to disappoint Miss Bingley now, dear," said she, "and I'm afraid all the horses are needed in the fields today, save your father's horse which is such a temperamental beast. Yes, now we may return Mr. Darcy's wayward horse, he would be pleased, and you can get closer to Miss Bingley, Jane. Absolutely!"

Mrs. Bennet now began to vacillate, however, when faced with the "thing." Terrified, she whispered, "Lizzy, it is so tall. What if it tosses Jane?"

Elizabeth had never seen Gillebride as anything but a gentleman's horse, but she could understand her mother's fears. Approaching Gillebride, she put her hand gently up to the stallion's face. She would go if she could, but the invitation from Miss Bingley was not for her, and Jane _was _by far one of the most accomplished horsewomen in Hertfordshire, even besting most of the menfolk of Meryton. Even now as Jane stepped up to ride Gillebride (she planned to get near to Netherfield riding astride, then walk and lead Gillebride from half a mile to the house), Elizabeth thought she cut a very fine and confident figure. A true equestrian, she thought proudly of her sister.

"Gillebride," she softly said, "you will take care of my sister, won't you? You will be careful?" Gillebride looked at her with his intelligent eyes, then did something that surprised even Jane – he put his massive head down onto Lizzy's shoulder and nuzzled her neck. Tickled, Lizzy giggled and looked at her mother. "I think he promises, Mama."

Mrs. Bennet sighed, but seemed somewhat comforted by that tender action of the mount. She looked up at the skies, noted some of the gathering clouds, and said, "Well, you had better go then. We will have your Papa's horse sent for you in four hours, unless you send word." She again peered at the darkening clouds. "Oh, I hope you do not get caught in the rain … although if you do, then Mr. Bingley would have to have you stay the night – and that would be very good, indeed."

"Mama!" chorused her daughters in protest.

"Oh hush!" clucked the matriarch. "It is not as if I am wishing for something so very far-fetched, you know!" Then she waved off Jane with her handkerchief, and with a surreptitious wink at Elizabeth, Jane directed Gillebride into an easy canter and soon enough disappeared round the bend. Turning to Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet then said, "Now missy … _inside_. Tis your turn to tell me all about Mr. Darcy." She linked arms with her second daughter even as the latter raised objections which, naturally, fell on the deaf ears of a stubborn, matchmaking mother.

* * *

Charles Bingley entered the drawing room of Netherfield where his sisters and Mr. Hurst were. He had earlier announced that he and Mr. Hurst, in view of Darcy's condition, would have to forego the Monday luncheon with the militia officers to which they had been invited. Caroline was highly displeased and was in the fair way of arguing that Mr. Darcy would be asleep for hours anyhow, but when the skies suddenly released a torrent of rain, Bingley said firmly, "Well, that settles it, then. I would be mad to brave such horrid weather. And that … is _that."_

Louisa Hurst asked quietly. "Is Mr. Darcy going to be alright? Do we need to call a physician from Town? You know these local butchers are not really up to par …"

"Dr. Rush did fine. He is London-trained, and was an army surgeon, not a butcher, before he retired." Bingley went over to the serviette to pour himself some tea. "Darcy is doing well. Dr. Rush reported no broken bones, but there is a gash on his head that we need to watch out for. Mr. Jones has already prescribed some draughts." He sipped silently sipped his tea, and in deep thought positioned himself by the window seat.

"Do we know what happened?" Dalton Hurst asked, for once sober and keenly watching all the occupants in the room.

Bingley sighed. "No, not yet … all we know is that there were gunshots fired and Darcy's horse bolted. We will know more when Darcy wakes up."

"Perhaps there were late season hunters … poachers. It is possible, is it not?" Louisa added.

"Anything is possible. Darcy will want to investigate …." Bingley's voice then trailed off to a curious pause, then suddenly he jumped up causing his cup to rattle on his saucer as he peered at something outside in the pouring rain. "Good God! Is that Miss Bennet out there? And is she leading … _Darcy's horse?_" Quickly, he ordered a footman out to meet Miss Bennet and take the horse, and went to station himself at the foyer to await the young lady's entrance.

Back in the drawing room, the two sisters had a whispered argument. "I thought you were to rescind the invitation to luncheon in light of this morning's incident!" Louisa hissed.

"I … forgot," Caroline replied limply. "Besides, I did not think she would come anymore because of the rain."

Dalton Hurst chuckled. "Well, ladies, it seems your best-laid schemes would _be _doomed to failure, eh, Louisa?" He laughed at his wife's thunderous face, then affected a mock-scared countenance. ""Oh, but I must be careful. I know what you keep in your reticule, and I do not want to get hurt. But then again, you also would not want for Mr. Darcy to find you what have been up to, would you, dearest?" He extended his elbow to her, saying, "Come, shall we meet our guest at the foyer too, and make her feel welcome?" Louisa ignored her husband and stomped off to join Charles. Grinning, Dalton Hurst looked at Caroline, who was thoroughly confused. "Sister, you may want to check on a hot luncheon for our neighbor. The poor girl must be half frozen." And with a sardonic bow, he exited the drawing room.

* * *

_My dearest Lizzy,_

_I find myself quite unwell this Tuesday morning, which, I suppose, is due to my getting wet through yesterday. The heavens opened up before I could reach the house. My kind friends will not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones - therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me. I simply have a sore throat and a bit of a headache, otherwise, there is not much the matter with me._

_Jane_

Elizabeth set at once to go to her sister, sans carriage which still was not to be had. They were relieved yesterday afternoon to receive a note from Jane informing them that she made it to Netherfield safely, but had been invited to stay on account of the downpour – but now here was the anxiety again, at least on Elizabeth's part, that Jane was feeling poorly. "Nobody dies of a trifling cold," Mrs. Bennet had declared staunchly – but Elizabeth felt that it was more to talk herself into believing it rather than actually doing so. At any rate, nothing was to stop her from going to her most beloved sister.

_And maybe gain a peek too at how Mr. Darcy is faring_, she admitted to herself with a shy chuckle, as to Netherfield she hiked.

She was halfway along the familiar trail when she heard whistling coming her way. Getting a strange feeling at the pit of her stomach and realizing that it would be dangerous for a young woman to be found alone with some stranger, Elizabeth looked around for somewhere to hide, and was just about to dodge behind a tree but oh! Too late. The passing soldier – one of the militia presently encamped in Meryton, judging by the bright red uniform he wore – had already seen her, and so readily greeted her.

"Ahoy there, miss! Pardon me, I had not realized that anyone would be on the trail after yesterday's wild rain." He bowed politely and smiled charmingly at Elizabeth, who lightly nodded and moved to continue on to her path. But the stranger kept up his address.

"George Wickham at your service, madam!" he called jovially, "Please, may I not know the name of the charming sprite who has crossed my path this lovely morning? I am new to this part of England …"

"We have not been introduced, sir!" Elizabeth sternly replied without turning to face him – indeed, she sped up even more to get away from him. _I know that face, _she thought. _I have seen it before … where?_

But the man would not be deterred. He stepped in front of Elizabeth, blocking her path, smile belying the dangerous glint that Elizabeth could not fail to recognize. "Then let us correct that, my lady … I have told you my name, now tell me yours, and we shall be the best of friends from here on. Hmm?"

"Let me pass, sir!" Elizabeth sharply commanded to hide her alarm.

The soldier just laughed. "Come, come, what's a little tete-a-tete between friends? Surely no one would begrudge us that. See, we are alone. No one to see, no one to comment," and he moved closer to Elizabeth as she tried to back away, "no one to know …" He laughed even more when Elizabeth tried to shove him to clear her path. He was just about to grab her arm when …

"Miss Elizabeth!" It was Henson astride Gillebride, and now resolutely advancing towards them. He dismounted quickly when he reached them, and nailing a fiery glance at Wickham, his voice was nonetheless gentle when he asked Elizabeth, "Are you alright, miss?"

"Mr. Henson!" Elizabeth's relief was evident in her voice as she practically ran to stand beside Mr. Darcy's valet. "I am so glad you have come!" She did her best to regulate her breathing, but her heart was still racing wildly and she turned her face away so that the Wickham person would not see her reactionary tears.

"Yes, ma'am," the gentleman calmly replied. "The Netherfield party was most anxious to see you today, and sent me out here to meet you." Stepping towards Wickham, he growled, "Leave, Wickham."

Wickham sneered. "Henson. What now, your master too afraid to see me?"

"Consider yourself lucky, you lout," responded Henson, "that it was not Mr. Darcy who came out here – or you would have a hole through you right now. I can do it in his stead." His hand smoothly went up to his trouser belt where appeared the hilt of a pistol. Wickham's eyes flitted to the instrument, then back to Henson's ferocious eyes, whereupon after a pause he sneered.

"You're a shaky old man."

"We can always test that theory." (He was actually a trained marksman, as was Darcy's coachman Clarence, upon the master's insistence.)

"I am wasting my time with you."

Henson smirked. "For once we are in agreement."

There was a couple more seconds of intense stare, rife with dislike, between the two men who were almost the same height – then after a derisive laugh and a mock bow to Elizabeth, Wickham walked away whistling. Elizabeth sagged in relief against Gillebride, who snorted in commiseration. "Thank you, Mr. Henson," she whispered.

"Not me, madam," Henson replied. "It was Mr. Darcy who was most adamant that I meet you this morning. He woke up quite agitatedly, and was simply unable to come himself."

"How … how did he know?"

"You will have to ask him that yourself, Miss Elizabeth."

In truth, Henson himself was hard-pressed to explain all the events of the morning. He had been in Mr. Darcy's dressing room planning a suitable attire for his employer when he heard a gasp from the bedchamber. Rushing in, he found Mr. Darcy struggling to arise, and he practically snarled at Henson when the latter tried to stop him. "Leave me be, Henson!" the gentleman growled. "I need to get up and get to her!"

"Get to whom, sir?" Henson asked confusedly, gently trying to get Mr. Darcy to lie back again.

"Elizabeth, dammit! I need to get to Elizabeth! Danger … aaargh!" Mr. Darcy put his hands to his head, wincing in pain and struck by vertigo. He sank back in bed. "I need to save her," he murmured desperately. It was then that the atmosphere changed - even Henson felt it - and Mr. Darcy did a most curious thing. He clasped the obsidian ring he always wore and turned it around his finger while mumbling. "Turn three times, turn three times, turn three …" Mr. Darcy was breathing heavily, but Henson swore he heard a woman's voice say, "..._ where you are loved, Master William."_

How painful it was for Henson to watch his well-loved master this distressed! Protectively, he held Mr. Darcy's hand. "Mr. Darcy … rest now. I will go. Just tell me where I can find Miss Elizabeth."

Mr. Darcy was still panting, but calmed a little and closed his eyes in forced stillness while holding his ring. Then his eyes flew open, and he grabbed Henson's arms with surprising strength. "The trail leading to Longbourn! Go, Henson! Bring Gillebride ... and take the gun I have armed you with. She's with Wickham!" And with that he fainted. Henson did not need to be told twice. Something extraordinary – even supernatural – was happening here, and if it involved Wickham, it certainly was not going to be pretty.

And so here he was now. He was glad he was able to get to Miss Elizabeth in time. He knew he was going to have to write to Colonel Fitzwilliam now – Wickham in the militia created circumstances more than an injured Mr. Darcy could handle._ But how did Mr. Darcy know about Miss Elizabeth?_ _What did Mr. Darcy see? Whose voice was that I heard? _

However, whatever, or whoever it was, Henson knew: his master was intricately connected to this young lady, and she would be the making, or the breaking, of the great man that Fitzwilliam Darcy could be. Henson smiled._ Tis splendid._


	9. THIS TIME THE LILY

**Chapter 8**

Darcy was an irritable man these days. Being made to stay in his bedchamber with little to do but read and see to some estate matters or perform correspondence (hampered by vertigo and punctuated by vomiting a few times), was the last thing he wanted to do at any given time, but now more than ever. He knew who_ had_ come to be guests at Netherfield … specifically, he knew who had come to nurse her ailing sister and then been "invited" – in a manner of speaking, but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth – to stay on. Miss Elizabeth was here... had been here since yesterday, and the fact that he was missing out on her company made Darcy awfully testy that he began to grate even on his loyal man Henson's nerves.

After another round of arguments this bright Wednesday morning as to why he still could not venture downstairs, Henson finally exclaimed in exasperation, "But sir! What is to happen if you do have morning tea with the ladies and you vomited on Miss Elizabeth's lap? It would be mortifying, if I may say so myself, sir!"

Darcy, halfway up his bed in order to get dressed, stared at Henson thunderously, then ever so slowly, began to chuckle. It was a ridiculous picture that Henson painted … but it worked! The chuckle began to bubble into a full-blown laugh, which naturally set off another headache for the master of Pemberley. Nonetheless, his groan was a little less vitriolic now, which was heartening. Once calm, Mr. Darcy spoke in level tones.

"Ahh, Henson … I am being difficult, aren't I?" he asked while holding his head.

"Not at all, sir," Henson deadpanned, and Darcy chortled.

Then sighing, Darcy said, "Fine. I will stay here. Could you assure me that … the guests are well and … ah … unharmed in any way?" Henson wanted to laugh. _Oh sir, if this is your way of being stealthy, you would make a very poor spy, indeed.  
_  
Aloud, he said, "Miss Bennet the elder is getting better from what I understand, sir. Miss Elizabeth is a good nurse, and her sister is fortunate to have so caring a friend in her."

"Good, good," Mr. Darcy said with practiced nonchalance. "And … she – Miss Elizabeth - is not exhausting herself, I hope? She is taking care of herself?"

"I believe she is in excellent health, sir. I observe she likes walking about the grounds for exercise at each opportunity, but is prudent about staying very close and in open view of the house in light of yesterday's event." He noted the relief in Mr. Darcy's eyes. Henson added, "I do feel sorry for her, however."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I overheard last night that Miss Elizabeth prefers reading to cards and," Henson began to fluff Mr. Darcy's pillow, "well, I think she must be bored at times, given the state of Mr. Bingley's library." Gently, Henson encouraged the master to lie back.

"I see," Darcy replied and closed his eyes. In all the years that master and servant had known each other, he and Henson had developed a protracted way of communicating. This time was no different. "Henson," Darcy began. "I believe you can pack that first set of books I brought, seeing as I cannot truly read long without getting dizzy. You can put it in your quarters for now, if you desire … here, my personal favorite in this set is _Hours of Idleness_ by Byron. Apropos, is it not? You may, if you like, read that and share it with, ah, Miss Bingley's abigail … Miss Pennyworth, is it?" Henson gave a little shudder. Sue Pennyworth was every bit like her mistress, except that her target was Henson, not Mr. Darcy. Darcy chuckled to see Henson's ears turn red as he cleared his throat.

"Ah … yes, sir. Thank you. I think I would like to read this volume by myself for now. Perhaps I may take a turn about the grounds to catch the last of the autumn colors. I might find someone who can appreciate Lord Byron's poetry. Somehow I do not think Miss Pennyworth would." Darcy grinned and dismissed Henson to rest his head awhile. Henson moved to the window to draw the shades then paused, and Darcy could hear mischief in the man's voice when he spoke, "In fact, sir, I think the best spot this very minute is the lily pond over there – I happen to see one beautiful lily, and perhaps it would be nice to catch it before the winter cold sets in. I am sure you would agree, sir."

With a barely suppressed laugh, he exited the bedchamber and heard Mr. Darcy scramble out of bed, albeit with a slight groan of pain. Henson debated whether he should go back to help his employer, but decided he knew the best way to make him feel better. He went straight to the lily pond garden, armed with the volume of ballads that hopefully he could set upon a lily.

* * *

Elizabeth sighed discreetly as she sat there on an oversized divan in the parlor during Wednesday's afternoon tea. She was glad that Jane was feeling better, enough to venture downstairs more and more. Already, she and Mr. Bingley had their heads close together as they whispered, smiled and stared at each other shyly, it made Elizabeth softly giggle. Her sister was falling in love, and it looked like it might be reciprocated.

But Elizabeth was also feeling restless. While grateful to receive on loan this morning the book of poetry from Mr. Darcy (through Mr. Henson), she hoped to see the man himself. She was assured by his valet that Mr. Darcy was recovering quite well, and may come downstairs for a while soon ... but having learned from some idle remark of Miss Bingley that gunshot was involved in Mr. Darcy's incident, Elizabeth was all the more desirous of seeing for herself that all was well. Sighing again, she just allowed herself to remember this morning by the pond …

_She was walking by the water enjoying the quiet, when Mr. Henson came up to her and smilingly handed her the volume. "Mr. Darcy thought you might enjoy this, Miss Elizabeth. He realizes your enthusiasm for reading, but is also fully aware of the sparseness of Mr. Bingley's collection. Perhaps this will fill the hours while your sister is resting. I trust that Miss Bennet's recovery is steady?"_

_Elizabeth answered affirmatively, and herself inquired after Mr. Darcy. Receiving news that he too was improving, Elizabeth seized an opportunity to be bold. "Mr. Henson, might you relay to Mr. Darcy that I would appreciate the opportunity to speak with him about … ah … what occurred on the trail yesterday? I ask this only because, well, I want to thank him, and ... and I feel I should warn my sisters …" Her voice trailed off, not sure how to describe without mortification her younger sisters' flirting with redcoats, and even what she could glean from one of the scenes she remembered - though rather belatedly - in the mirror this summer._

_Mr. Henson then thoughtfully replied, "I will tell Mr. Darcy, miss." He bowed and turned to go, but stopped to face her again. "Miss Elizabeth, though it is up to my master to fill in details, I believe it wise to warn young ladies of Wickham. He is not a good man, miss … and families have suffered because of him." With another bow, Mr. Henson left for the house._

_Elizabeth sat on a nearby bench and looked at the book in her hands. A first edition copy. She gently traced and read in a whisper the inscription on the bookplate. "Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pemberley, Derbyshire 1807." Elizabeth could not help but smile. Then out of the blue came a voice saying, "Home." She looked around, and finding no-one, glanced up at the Netherfield manor. It was too bright to see into any of the windows, but Elizabeth was drawn to look at the window of the west bedchamber. She almost imagined a wave coming from there. Elizabeth stared at it for a few seconds, then with a smile and a discreet bow went back to the house, the book clasped close to her heart._

She could not have known that a young man upstairs had smiled back and committed to heart the enchanting picture she made among the last lily pads of autumn.

"You will not have him." A voice spoke close to Elizabeth's ear, startling her out of her reverie. She looked up to see Louisa Hurst beside her.

"Pardon me?" gasped Elizabeth.

"You will not have Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Hurst spoke in such low tones as she sedately sat herself on the divan beside Elizabeth, "so you may as well stop aspiring."

Elizabeth was too shocked to reply at once and quickly looked around the room. Jane and Mr. Bingley were on one side, oblivious to her - and Mr. Hurst was on the sofa, too far away to truly hear them, though Elizabeth's skin prickled when he raised his wine glass to her in a mocking salute. Miss Bingley was nowhere to be seen. "I do not have the pleasure of un …" Elizabeth began, but Mrs. Hurst cut in.

"Mr. Darcy's need for a partner is very exacting as he is a premier member of the Ton. No one can be called accomplished in his eyes unless she has a thorough knowledge of music, singing, dancing and the modern languages – and she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice …"

"Oh, yes," a deep voice drawled nearby, "all this she must possess … and yet she must add something more substantial, the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

Louisa Hurst jumped. "Mr. Darcy!" she cried, her face red as beet as she tried to recoup. "You are finally well enough to join us!" She looked at her sister Caroline who was holding on to Mr. Darcy's arm, looking smug. "Oh! Caroline! I am so happy that you and Mr. Darcy have at last been able to spend quality time together!"

Mr. Darcy's eyebrows rose. "Oh! You meant the short walk from the bottom of the stairs to here in the parlor, Mrs. Hurst. Yes, Miss Bingley opened the door for me in an incomparably elegant fashion. Thank you, Miss Bingley," he said, then loosened her fingers from his arm. Bingley walked up to him excitedly to welcome him, and politely Mr. Darcy went to congratulate Jane Bennet as well on her return to health, a greeting that was readily returned.

Elizabeth noted that his color was still a bit pale, even his gait a little unsteady as he went to sit on a chair near her – but otherwise he looked well. There was still a strip of bandage on his temple, and she could see that it was still slightly swollen. She repressed the urge to touch it and almost failed when he locked his eyes into hers and smiled. "It is wonderful to see you, Miss Elizabeth," he said sincerely, and the lady smiled.

Tea time was spent on small talk - mostly. When everybody was engaged in conversation with someone else and seemingly nobody was paying attention to either Elizabeth or Mr. Darcy, the gentleman delicately leaned towards her and whispered, "Tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth, shortly before breakfast. We talk. Lily pond." Elizabeth gave a single nod and straightened up, then gasped softly as she felt a wave of hatred slam against her heart. She had this exact sensation last Friday in front of the village church. Elizabeth looked up.

Louisa Hurst was shooting daggers at her with her eyes.

* * *

Wednesday night had come, and the town of Meryton was cradled in sleep. Mr. Thiessen, rector of the parish, sat at his dining table, painfully aware more than ever in all of his three and thirty years (fifteen of them in ministry) of being alone in life. He felt even more despondent at the thought. _I've lost her, _he said, _and I never even had her._ He had been looking forward to Friday when he and Miss Elizabeth would work again with the children, as those mornings had been the highlight of his days for the last many months – but sometime today, he received word through Charlotte Lucas, Miss Elizabeth's good friend, that she would not be able to make it to Friday's lesson, and that Miss Lucas would step in for her that time. Mr. Thiessen kept his voice level when he asked if Miss Elizabeth was well.

"She is, sir," Charlotte replied, "but she is watching over Jane who took ill last Monday on a luncheon visit with Mr. Bingley's sisters at Netherfield. Jane had been too sick to move, so she is recovering there with Lizzy nursing her."

"I see," Mr. Thiessen smiled weakly. He knew that that was where Mr. Darcy was staying as well. Mr. Thiessen could not have missed the looks that passed between the two the last time he saw them together, nor could he have been mistaken about Mr. Darcy's possessive stance over Miss Elizabeth. His heart sank. Now, as he sat alone in his dining parlor, he felt angry. Was he to be denied his joy? No, it could not be too late. He had gone too far to turn back now. His task last Monday - when he left the parsonage very early even before his groundskeeper Clemens was up - was only the first step. He would see it to completion. Mr. Thiessen clutched the satchel he had been keeping close to his person since Monday. He was afraid that someone might find its content and connect it to him. _No, not yet ... but tomorrow shall be the day. Miss__ Elizabeth will accept ME. I shall seek her at Netherfield. _

Thus resolved, the rector of Meryton finally went to bed, dreaming of a young lady with a smile the brilliance of the stars, and that she was his.


	10. DAWN

**AN: A straight chapter this time, no scene breaks. This one needed the whole spotlight, no sharers! I hope you like it.**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Thursday morning dawned overcast, and Elizabeth was afraid that, should it rain, she would miss her opportunity to be with Mr. Darcy. She wanted to ask many things – but she also just wanted to be close to him. _I sound like a lovelorn maiden_, Elizabeth laughed to herself, _but heaven forbid I should admit it!_ She thought of Mrs. Hurst and her warning the night before, and shivered.

Finally, the sun broke through. Elizabeth had been awake for a good hour now and had dressed herself, and sat by the window watching the sky clear. She could not see the lily pond from her room and wondered if Mr. Darcy was already there. She bid her time a little more for safety's sake (more daylight) and for decorum's (must not appear too eager), but at last got up, checked on Jane, and quietly slipped out of the house, deciding to go the longer way to avoid servants who were now about their duties.

She came to the final bend … and there he was. Tall and proud, arms on his chest with one set of fingers thoughtfully on his chin, as his eyes fixed on something on the lily pond. His profile was turned to Elizabeth, and from where she stood, the early morning sun seemed to clothe him with a luminescent amber glow, and he looked both other-worldly and powerful. _He is beautiful_, thought Elizabeth.

She certainly hoped she did not say that aloud, for at that exact moment, Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth, and his eyes lit up and his lips parted in a gentle smile. _Oh, dear God, exactly how many ways can a girl drown …?_

As for Darcy, he sensed Elizabeth's presence before he saw her, but felt it necessary to take a moment to collect himself before facing her. His heart was beating fast, and his throat was parched. _How can she affect me so? _Furtively taking a deep breath, he then turned to greet her – and what he saw took away that breath right back.

Elizabeth had her face to the newly risen sun, and as the soft rays touched her complexion already a-glow with the warmth of exercise, Darcy 's mind immediately went to a line of Homer - _" ... Dawn in robe of saffron was hastening from the streams of Oceanus, to bring light to mortals and immortals …"_ A few tendrils escaped from the loose bun beneath her hood, and the wayward mahogany curls framed her gentle face set with the most alluring eyes that to Darcy were as promise-laden as the dawn. _M__agnificent._

They stood several feet apart and had unknowingly drifted to each other entranced – until, not far from them, someone cleared his throat and greeted with a hint of a chuckle, "Um … good morning, Miss Elizabeth."

Startled out of her gazing, Elizabeth shook out a croaky, "Oh! Mr. Henson! Good morning, sir," as she curtsied. Turning to Mr. Darcy, she said a little breathlessly, "And to you as well, Mr. Darcy."

Mr. Darcy bowed, himself speechless. He had been standing by the pond for some minutes, counting the seconds before he would see Elizabeth, and now all he could do is breath to compose himself. "I hope you do not mind Henson being here, madam – I still suffer from occasional dizziness, though I am getting better. Please, shall we sit?" Elizabeth smiled and pulled back her hood, and Darcy gulped when he saw a saffron-colored ribbon that tied back her hair.

In truth, Darcy was up half the night, thinking of what to say today– about Wickham, the shots fired that made him fall off Gillebride, and finally how he was certain of her being in danger last Tuesday. He was not sure how he could explain that last one effectively, especially as nobody in Netherfield had even known of her coming. _But I am going to have to try, if I am to make her understand that I … care._

So now, with Henson on another bench on the other side of the pond to allow privacy, they sat down. Rather, Elizabeth sat down. Darcy started pacing, to the amusement and consternation of Elizabeth. "Mr. Darcy, please!" she laughed. "You may have to contend with more dizziness if you pace like so, not only for you but for myself as well!" Darcy chuckled and stopped pacing, but remained standing to look at Elizabeth.

Finally, he sighed. "Miss Elizabeth, perhaps it would be better if I start on the topic easiest to convey, and allow you to see how everything is related. Is this acceptable?" At Elizabeth's nod, he continued, "I fell from Gillebride last Monday at the end of my morning ride. I was near the stable when two gunshots were fired." He smiled at Elizabeth's sharp intake of breath. "I am not certain if they were fired at me or were used as a scare tactic, or even if there were poachers … Clarence, my coachman, and Henson are currently investigating, as I want to keep this investigation close to me for now. You will understand why." He paused. "My last thought, before I hit my head and Gillebride almost stomped on me, was that I saw a flash of red from one of the hedgerows. The best that I could glean, and I must admit it was not much, was that it was the red of militia fabric."

Elizabeth again gasped – _ that Wickham person! _Darcy saw a quick understanding come into her eyes. He continued. "Of course, we are not completely positive that it was Mr. Wickham, whom you have met in a rather distasteful fashion, who fired the shots that morning. But he certainly would have had motive." At this, he sat on the bench next to Elizabeth. "Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Wickham and I have a long history together. Please bear with me as I tell my story. Parts of it are still hard for me to narrate, and tis best if I speak without interruption." He said this almost pleadingly, and Elizabeth nodded.

And so Darcy began a narrative of all his dealings with George Wickham – from their childhood and youth in Pemberley, to his father's attachment based on ignorance of Wickham's disturbing propensities regarding women of all ages, to his university days with the gambler Wickham, to the elder Mr. Darcy's finally realizing Wickham's true character, and to the long road back to being father and son. Mr. Darcy's voice was barely a whisper when he spoke of his father's passing, but turned hard when he delved on the will that contained instructions for the living that was conditionally awarded to Wickham if he took orders, which Wickham refused in lieu of cash payment, and then demanded for again when his money was gone.

Finally, Mr. Darcy talked about Georgiana, his dear sister taken in by Wickham's charms - and he by a governess' false credentials - and almost irreparably ruined had he not, by the mercy of heaven, intervened. "Aside from his vulgar desires for a girl of fifteen" – he looked at Elizabeth apologetically here – "Wickham wanted my sister's dowry, which was substantial … but I _know _that a particular inducement was to score vengeance against me. Had he succeeded, his revenge would have been complete indeed! Meantime, poor sweet Georgiana has not recovered from her guilt … and neither have I! See, I should have warned her … I should have told …" and he broke off a sob as he turned his face away.

Elizabeth also wept in compassion while her eyes never left Mr. Darcy's face, and unwittingly for both of them, their hands had clasped together on Mr. Darcy's trousered thigh sometime during the narration. When they became aware of it, they were both unwilling to let go, despite Elizabeth's blush. To her, everything she ever saw in the obsidian mirror made sense now. To Darcy, every pain recounted seemed assuaged by the caring of a friend. He squeezed Elizabeth's hand gratefully, actually finding more courage to move on to the next part.

"This brings me to last Tuesday morning, Miss Elizabeth, when you met Wickham." Suddenly shy, Elizabeth gently tried to pull her hand away from Mr. Darcy's clasp, but he held fast. "Please, Miss Elizabeth … do not be embarrassed. If anything, I think I should be the one with that emotion, as I hardly know how to share what I feel … without looking like a fool." He sighed. "First, however, I will let you know that I have sent a formally-signed letter to the commander of the militia in Meryton, informing him and offering proof of Wickham's penchant for gambling, debt-racking and women - in general terms. I can back up each claim. Also, I reported that Wickham has been seen, at least once, loitering on non-camp grounds under suspicious circumstances, though I did not specify anything yet. I realized I needed to do something to warn others when Henson told me of your desire to speak to me of him." Seeing Elizabeth's smile and nod of approval, he lightly said, "Now on to my story."

Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Shortly after my mother died, I was given something that warned me of whenever something dangerous, life-threatening or even extremely distasteful would happen to me or those I … ah … care about. It was that way with Georgiana. It came first in the form of a sign, and then a whispered thought in my mind, and then an increasing sense of what the danger was … and it was the same with you."

"Like a foretelling?" Elizabeth asked.

"In a way, though I only know of events as they are, not as they would be." Darcy hardly knew how to continue, but as he looked at the girl beside him - her eyes lit with acceptance, even affection, _to bring light to a mortal like me, _he thought, once more alluding to Homer's poetry - he knew he could forge on.

"Miss Elizabeth, let me show you something. I will explain what it is, and then you tell me if I need to be sent to Bedlam," he said with a smile. He pulled out his obsidian ring which he kept in his pocket that morning so as not to be distracted by the swirling colors, and showed it to Elizabeth. "This you have seen already, as it was pointed out by Mrs. Nellis the first time we saw each other," he began. "I received it when I was twelve years old, but it has been in my mother's family for hundreds of years now. There is a story attached to it which I will tell you some other time – but it is said in our clan that the ring chooses the wearer, not the wearer the ring. This ring was in my hands the day the obsidian changed color, so I was deemed the wearer." He took Elizabeth's hand again and put the ring on her palm for closer inspection … and on her skin, the colors swirled even faster on the obsidian surface. Elizabeth gasped, and Darcy himself was tantalized – but he wanted to continue his story.

"The surface of this ring, Miss Elizabeth, turns into a mass of smoky gray and black when I am being told of a danger … and from there, sometimes but not all the time, I get specific thoughts, almost like a moving set of pictures, which then help me decide what to do." He added in a whisper, "Sometimes it is just a feeling, but sometimes there are visions. I had a vision of you on the trail last Tuesday."

Elizabeth was entranced as she looked at the ring – brilliant, ever-changing colors danced on its surface, and she could not take her eyes off of it. Whispering, she asked, "And what of these bright colors, Mr. Darcy?"

"They are there when I am happy … and safe." _And loved, _he added in his thoughts.

_And home, _Elizabeth whispered in hers. Tears gathered in her eyes.

"Bedlam for me, Miss Elizabeth?" Darcy joked quietly.

"Hardly, Mr. Darcy." She looked up into Mr. Darcy's eyes, her own swimming with unshed tears that somehow touched the gentleman's heart. Elizabeth came to a decision. "Mr. Darcy, I need to show you something, but it is at Longbourn. Please, would you come see me there? I have a lot to say … oh, I cannot explain! But I will soon, and it will make sense. Please?" she pleaded, handing the obsidian ring back to him and getting to her feet.

"Of course, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said as he too stood, a tinge of curiosity lining his voice as he put on his ring. "You will not tell me what it is?"

Elizabeth hesitated, then shook her head. "I cannot. It is easier to show you … but suffice it to say that your obsidian ring is reminiscent of something that shows me … _things._ Oh sir, please, no more. We are back to Longbourn today, if Mr. Bingley can spare his carriage to take us home. If you are well enough to call tomorrow …"

"I will be. And I can have Clarence take you in my carriage instead, if it truly is your desire to be home today."

Elizabeth grinned. "Yes, Mr. Darcy, it is. We do not want to overstay our welcome. Jane has gotten so much better at any rate. Thank you for your offer of your equipage, sir. Will after luncheon serve?" Darcy nodded in acknowledgment, even as he thought he would miss Miss Elizabeth's company sooner than expected – and for that, he felt quite dismayed.

Elizabeth smiled again, then boldly touched his arm and added, "Thank you for sharing your story with me. I appreciate all that you have been through, and I only regret that I have caused you pain in having your remember. Please know, though, that through your boldness in being open with me, I know to warn my sisters, in a way that will keep your name out of it. I appreciate it, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy put his hand over hers. "Miss Elizabeth, your regard is enough reward for me."

With a smile, and then a nod to Mr. Henson who had patiently waited all this time, Elizabeth turned back to the house to again check on Jane and accompany her to breakfast. Darcy watched her leave, his heart feeling lighter than it had these last few months.

"Is everything alright, sir?" Henson said with a smile, and receiving an affirmative answer, added with a familiarity borne only out of many years of close and friendly association, "She is a lovely woman, sir … and highly thought of even by the servants of this manor."

"That she is, Henson … that she is." _And I believe she would be as well in Pemberley._

Darcy decided to sit by the pond a little longer, enjoying the quiet sounds of the morning and autumn breeze. It was peaceful, relaxing … until he felt it. A sense of foreboding. A darkness that began to creep. He slowly straightened up, getting the bearings of his tingly sensation when from the house, Charles Bingley came running.

"Darcy! Thank God I found you! Miss Bennet is frantic - Miss Elizabeth has not returned to the house after her walk, and we cannot find her anywhere! We only found this one lying on the ground." He held out a hair ribbon the color of saffron.

Darcy's heart got caught in his throat. He looked at the obsidian. It was smoky gray and black.


	11. OUT OF THE SHADOWS

**Author's note: One suspect down in this chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_Eerily quiet. _That was Jane Bennet's thought as she stepped out of the Longbourn home with Mr. Bingley who insisted on escorting her back to apprise her family of the events of the morning. She was grateful for this - just as she was grateful, for the sake of keeping the desperate news small for now, that her younger sisters were still abed - as she knew she could not have spoken to her parents without weeping at every other word. Mr. Bingley had given all assurances to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet that everything within his power and Mr. Darcy's would be done to find Miss Elizabeth, and now the Bennet parents sat there stunned and … _eerily quiet. Mama is not even asking for her salts, _Jane thought as she walked Mr. Bingley back to his carriage.

As for Bingley, he was full of self-reproach. _How could this have happened in my household? Why did I not set up security measures when Darcy heard those gunshots last Monday? When Darcy told me about having spotted Wickham whom I know from University, why did I not exercise caution even more?  
_  
A sniffle rose beside him. _Miss Bennet._ Bingley's heart tore completely for her, and he stopped in his tracks to face her. She was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, her eyes red and swollen, her nose shiny and runny. _She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld! _Tentatively, he took Jane's free hand. "Miss Bennet, I …" he sighed. "Miss Bennet, I know there are no words I can use to comfort you, but I can only promise one thing. We will do all we can to find your sister. You saw Darcy earlier … the fierce determination he showed. He is the most resolute individual I have ever known. He will not stop until Miss Elizabeth is restored to you. And neither will I. Even right now, Darcy has an audience with Colonel Forster of the militia, to inquire about Wickham's whereabouts. We are covering as much ground as we possibly can."

Jane gave a shaky little smile, and uttered a faint "I know, and I thank you, Mr. Bingley. It's just that …" again, tears flowed down her reddened cheeks, and Bingley found his curled finger brushing away one out of instinct, "Lizzy is the most spirited person I know, and yet also the gentlest. I cannot imagine anyone wanting to hurt her."

"You are way ahead to think of anything untoward, Miss Bennet … please," Bingley pleaded. Jane sniffed and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks again, and tried this time to smile. Bingley could bear it no longer. He spoke earnestly.

"Miss Bennet … Jane … I must tell you …" he let out a breath and looked away for a second. "There is so much to say, so much to let you know, and this is hardly the time for it. But I want you to know that my wishes, as they have come these last months, are unchanged – I wish to court you. Would you tuck that in your heart for now until I can speak to Mr. Bennet? As I said, this is not the time … but Jane, please take heart."

Jane stood there looking up at Mr. Bingley, his cheerful face subdued for now by the recent turn of events, and his usually dancing eyes quiet and intense. _Oh, _Jane thought in wonder, _he does likes me, just as Lizzy says._ It gave Jane comfort and courage to think of Elizabeth in the present tense – thus, when she smiled up at Mr. Bingley through her tears, that smile was all that was real in her heart. "Mr. Bingley … Charles … thank you." And with that and a squeeze of his hand, Jane went back to the Longbourn house to lend her strength to her precious family.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy was in agony. His still-ailing head was ready to burst, his heart had already done so – and he knew that nothing, NO ONE, could put the pieces back together except her. _Elizabeth … tell me where you are. _He held tightly to his obsidian ring, praying it would do what it had always done – reveal something to him – but for once, while the sense of danger persisted, Darcy could not discern any other person nor the likely place of where Elizabeth could be. _Two hours – you have been missing just under two hours, Elizabeth, and it feels like a lifetime!_

He and Henson had just come from the regiment camp in Meryton to confront that blasted Wickham – only to find that the man had deserted his post, as reported by the captain of the company that Wickham was supposed to be training with. "I was just going to your office, sir, to put in the report," said the captain. "Lieutenant Wickham did not report for duty this morning. And one horse is missing."

Darcy's world had spun, but he held on to every bit of control he had. Colonel Forster was livid and concerned – oh yes, he knew the Darcy connections! – "Mr. Darcy, I was going to implement today disciplinary actions against Wickham after I investigated the contents of your letter …! I assure you, every weight of the militia will be used to locate the deserter!"

"Damn slimy bastard!" Darcy put a palm to his throbbing head and breathed deeply. "I will call on you again for updates, while I explore options on my own."

As he turned to leave, Colonel Forster called out, "Pardon me, Mr. Darcy, but what is it that you need Lieutenant Wickham for?"

Not wanting to compromise Elizabeth's reputation, Darcy did not even break his stride as he replied, "Pollution."

Now here he was back on the pond trail, ostensibly to look around but truly, he wanted to be alone. His mind was full of Elizabeth. Henson knew this, and was going to argue for Mr. Darcy's concussion, but decided that it would benefit his master to have time to himself. He resolved, however, to look for him within a quarter of an hour while he conferred with Clarence about their own findings.

He was on his way to check on Mr. Darcy, when from the corner of his eye, Henson caught a movement among the trees. Quickly but quietly, he got his gun from the back of his trouser belt, and began to stealthily move forward until he could see a man behind a tree trunk. His back was towards Henson, but the whole angle of his body suggested that he had been watching Mr. Darcy who stood at the edge of the pond. Before he could get to the man, Henson saw another hand jut out from some bushes to point a gun straight to the stranger's head.

"Slowly, fool, put your hands up and step out into the path, then explain to me why you are watching my cousin."

Henson's eyes bulged out. "Colonel Fitzwilliam!" he called out. "You got my letter!"

Nicholas turned briefly towards Henson without lowering his hand with the gun to the other man's temple, and called back, "Ahoy, Henson! What now, your ward got away from you again? I thought the man was supposed to be resting from his concussion!"

"Yes, Colonel," Henson grinned and put away his own weapon. "But I have it on good authority that those of the Fitzwilliam blood are quite difficult to contain, sir."

Nicholas laughed. "There is that." Then to the interloper, "Ack, ack! Keep your hands up, I say!" By this time, Darcy had heard the exchange and hurried up to the little group, his view of the captive obscured by the tree trunk.

"Nicholas!" he called in a relieved tone. "You got my letter."

The colonel rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, we have established that fact. Now, Darcy, tell me that this man is one of your adoring throng, or we put a hole through him." He gave the man a shove, out from behind the trunk to Darcy's line of sight.

"Mr. Thiessen! What …" Suddenly, the surprised look gave way to a very angry, darkened countenance, and Darcy quickly stepped up to the man and grabbed him by the lapels. "What are you doing here? You are here about Elizabeth, aren't you?"

"You do not deserve her," Mr. Thiessen gritted, trying to loosen Darcy's grab on him.

"That is not up to you," Darcy said through clenched teeth. "What do you want _for _her?" Mr. Thiessen looked puzzled at the question, and Darcy slammed him back against the tree trunk and impatiently shook the man vigorously. "I said, what do you want for her? How much?"

"You think you can buy her!" he sneered. "Like all rich people of society, you think your money makes the world spin. Well, not Miss Elizabeth. She will have me!"

At this, Darcy once more slammed Thiessen against the trunk, and as he did so, a brown satchel fell from his great coat. Henson picked it up, and Thiessen immediately protested, "Do not touch that! That is mine, and you have no business …"

"Shut your mouth!" shouted Nicholas, military-like so as not to leave room for argument. "Open it, Henson."

With deft fingers, Henson undid the knotted drawstring and slid out the object inside. It was a box. A ring box.

Thiessen had come to propose marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, along with the newly arrived Bingley, were in the drawing room interrogating a very frustrated Mr. Thiessen.

"I told you already, I know nothing of a gun, I do not own one. I do not know a Wickham, and I have not been sent by him to spy on you. Above all, _I … have … no … idea … of … a … kidnapping!"_ Mr. Thiessen yelled, punctuating every word in his agitation. "I came here to talk to Miss Elizabeth. I was told by Miss Lucas only yesterday – and you may confirm that with her! - that Miss Elizabeth was here nursing her sick sister. I bought the ring last Monday … in London! I have the receipt for it in the parsonage! I meant to ask her to be my wife!" This he said with a glare at Mr. Darcy, which the latter effectively ignored.

"Why were you skulking around in the grounds?" Nicholas demanded.

"Because the butler refused to grant me entry to the house! I thought Miss Elizabeth was inside … but when I saw Mr. Darcy arrive and then go straight to where the pond was, I decided to follow, thinking that he was going to meet with Miss Elizabeth!"

"You are suggesting something improper?" Bingley asked incredulously.

"I am saying nothing of the kind! But Elizabeth – Miss Elizabeth! – and Mr. Darcy have … gah! … I do not know what to tell you!" the parson cried testily, leaning back toward his chair in extreme exasperation and glaring at everyone.

"Just tell us where Wick …" began Colonel Fitzwilliam, but Darcy interrupted in a low voice.

"Leave him be. He cannot tell us anything."

"But Darcy …"

"Nicholas. No. No more." He stood up, picked up the open ring box on a nearby side table and, after staring at it for a little while, closed it and stepped up to Mr. Thiessen to hand him the item. "Mr. Thiessen. Please forgive me." And he walked out of the room. The two remaining men watched him go, and with a sigh, Nicholas motioned to Bingley to wrap up the affair with Mr. Thiessen and went to follow his cousin. He was dismayed to not find him anywhere.

* * *

Darcy was seated against the wall on the floor of a dusty, unoccupied bedchamber upstairs, knowing that his cousin Nicholas would not think of looking for him there. He discovered this room during an inspection with Bingley, and he realized that the door's locking mechanism was broken. For some reason he made a mental note of that – and he was glad he did. He just needed a moment to himself. He needed to think of his next steps. He needed to find Elizabeth.

Darcy wept without a sound. He pulled his knees further up to his chin – a position he had not done since he was a boy – and sank his head onto his knees while his arms went around his legs and his hands remained linked. He touched the obsidian again, and in a voice wrenched with tears, he mumbled, "Turn three times … turn three times … turn three …"

Suddenly, out of the shadows of his mind, flashed an image, not of Elizabeth, but a mirror. An obsidian hand mirror. And he heard a voice say, "It will always show you home."

_For it has been said in the Fitzwilliam family story that while the ring stays with those of Hameldone blood, the mirror travels the world in search of someone worthy – and when that someone is found, the Obsidian becomes whole again … to bring two hearts to a love and life that would be remembered for all time._

Darcy sat up straight. The Obsidian …!

Elizabeth was given the Obsidian!

_She _was that "someone worthy". Darcy remembered now that Elizabeth alluded to her possession of the mirror this morning when they talked by the pond. "It's at Longbourn, sir," she had said, "but suffice it to say that your ring is reminiscent of something that shows me _things."_

Darcy sprang up from the floor and rushed through the house to the stables. To Longbourn he would go, and he would retrieve the mirror. He would find out where Elizabeth was ... he would get her and never, ever let her go.

Heaven help anyone now who would dare get in his way.


	12. PARTNERS, GOOD AND BAD

**Chapter 11**

"Stop fidgeting, witch!" A slap – the fourth, not that Lizzy was really counting – threw Elizabeth's head back so aggressively on the unpadded backboard of the moving coach that for a while she lost her bearings. The blows were violent, and already Elizabeth's face displayed bruises and cuts, and blood oozed from her gagged mouth. But instead of cowering, Elizabeth sat up even straighter, despite the limited range of motion that her bound hands and feet gave her, and looked at her captor directly in the eye. _I will not bend._

"Aww," he then cooed and tut-tutted, "now look what you've made me do to your pretty face. I only wanted to be friends, you know."

_Wickham_.

"Leave her alone before you kill her," remarked the woman beside her who looked as bored as she sounded as she filed her fingernails. "Darcy will not want a corpse back … and I intend to get my money's worth for this one." She then looked critically at Elizabeth's badly blotched face and muttered, "I even doubt that the man will take such damaged goods."

Wickham smirked at that, and with a lecherous look reached across and ran a finger lightly over Elizabeths's décolletage, even crooking one finger onto the valley between her breasts. Elizabeth froze. "Oh, he will take this one," Wickham drawled smugly. "I am sure of it!" He laughed as his finger dug further down Elizabeth's front.

Annoyed, the woman slapped Wickham's hand away from Elizabeth (who was thankful for little mercies!), and growled, "Save that for later, Wickham, when I'm not around. I would not relish having to watch you grunt like a pig!" she said with a shiver, before going back to her manicure.

Wickham leered and transferred his fingers to the other woman's neckline, caressing her skin and blatantly putting one hand over one breast and squeezing, "Jealous, Hetta? You know we can still have our pleasure … just like before. Last summer was immensely enjoyable, hmm?" he said seductively to the woman, who again swatted his hand away. Laughing, Wickham then sat back, and grinned mockingly at Elizabeth.

"Not until we get paid, Wickham," Hetta snarled, and muttered under her breath, "after all that botched up episode of the summer with that young Darcy twit."

Elizabeth gazed at them in alarm. This was Georgiana Darcy's former governess who colluded with Wickham last summer, for easy access to wealth using the dowry of a fifteen-year old! _Hetta Younge, that's the name!_ Elizabeth judged her to be about five and thirty years old, with what would have been a handsome face if not set in such hard, hawk-like countenance that spoke solely of avarice. _Dear God, they are planning to hold me for ransom from Mr. Darcy! How could they?_

_How could this have happened? _Suddenly Elizabeth was filled with desperate sadness. Just a few hours ago, her world was bright and beautiful. She was with a man she esteemed, one who truly engaged her, mind and spirit - they had talked openly, even touched innocently and endearingly. Just a few hours ago, her world held sunshine and promise. But now … _oh, Mr. Darcy ..._

She remembered walking back to the house from the pond when she was grabbed from behind as she passed some bushes. A burlap sack was slipped over her head. She passed out after a hard blow to her face … and when she came to, she was in this poorly-sprung hackney, on her way to God knows where.

At once Elizabeth felt sick. The anxiety of the morning, coupled with having had nothing to eat since then and hearing of her possible fate while experiencing the rocking motion of the carriage, made her stomach rage so badly that bile rose in her throat. Unable to spew it out because of the bind on her mouth, she began to choke and convulse, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

"Dammit!" Wickham exclaimed as he reached toward Elizabeth to free her mouth from her gag, whereupon she bent over and spewed bile all over the man's breeches and boots. This infuriated Wickham even more, and he shoved the near-unconscious Elizabeth back onto her seat. Her head whipped against the backboard, and Elizabeth slid down like a rag doll. Though limp and unmoving, Wickham in his insane fury gathered a fistful of Elizabeth's hair, hit her head again (twice!) on the carriage wall and started yelling obscenities at her unresponsive face.

"What are you doing?" screamed Hetta Younge as she flung Wickham away from Elizabeth. "You would kill her, and how would we demand payment? Fool!" She tried to get Elizabeth to straighten up in her seat, despite Wickham still huffing his fury at the lifeless form. Hetta stared at Elizabeth, and lightly tapped her cheeks. "Wake up, woman!" There was no response. Then she brought her face nearer to Elizabeth's, to listen to any breathing sound. She did not perceive any. She sagged back against the seat. "Oh lawd, Wickham, I think you _did _kill the girl!"

"Wh-what? No!" Wickham cried in fear.

* * *

Nicholas Fitzwilliam atop his horse was doing an ocular inspection of the lay of Bingley's land to see if there was anything at all that a fresh set of eyes might discover. He could not shake the feeling that Wickham had everything to do with Miss Elizabeth's disappearance, given what was relayed to him earlier this week through an express, and especially as Henson had already briefed him on what transpired at the militia camp in Meryton. He huffed angrily. _Will we never be rid of that vermin?_

Suddenly, from a copse of trees just yonder broke through a mount and his rider, bringing the soldier on high alert at once … and with quick recognition, he gasped. _William on Gillebride! _"What the hell ….?" Immediately, he turned his own steed to ride out to his cousin. _No way am I leaving him alone when he should not be riding in his condition … that annoying little mutthead, _Nicholas muttered to himself, warring between affection for and exasperation with the man he called his cousin.

Without looking, Darcy immediately sensed who rode alongside him, and felt encouraged. Nicholas had always been there for him … _always. _Wordlessly and still without turning his head, he smiled, his spirit feeling buoyed, as he lowered his torso to be more parallel to Gillebride's muscled form. Nicholas grinned – this was just like when they were younger men racing across the rugged Derbyshire terrain – and together, now across the vast meadow of Hertfordshire, they rode the wind on a mission. It was not long after that the two men were admitted past the main entrance of the Longbourn manor.

* * *

Darcy stood in the middle of Elizabeth's bedchamber. Everything had her mark on it– cheerful, simple and neat - and the smell of lavender in the air came to him as a comforting mantle. He was glad to be able to get this far with little loss of time. He had expected many questions from Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, some screeching from the latter, and a few declarations from the former of him having lost his senses in asking for a mirror - more so when he explained what the mirror was for . But Darcy would not be deterred: he needed the obsidian, and the obsidian he would get.

In the end, everything worked out even better than expected. When they were led by Jane Bennet into the master's study, Darcy was shocked to find a near-catatonic Mr. Bennet and a trembling Mrs. Bennet. Compassion grabbing his heart, Darcy crouched in front of the stricken master of Longbourn and said, "Mr. Bennet, I swear - I swear to you with all I have - I will find your daughter. I will bring her home." As he stood up, Mr. Bennet grabbed his hand tightly and whispered, "Lizzy ... home." Those were the first words spoken, as Darcy discovered later on, by this father extremely distraught by news of his daughter's disappearance. At hearing him react to something again, Mrs. Bennet burst into tears and hurled herself at her husband and stayed there.

The two gentlemen retreated to give the grieving couple their privacy. Nicholas opted to wait outside with their horses to prepare them for their immediate departure. Darcy in turn approached Jane and said in a low voice, "Miss Bennet, I hope you would not think this an untoward request, but may I have a moment in Miss Elizabeth's bedchamber? I will not take long. I just …" here he paused, "I need a moment to sense her somewhat. Please." Jane took a quick glance at her parents who were still engaged with each other, then nodded and hurriedly led him upstairs, and left him alone in Elizabeth's room. "Five minutes," he promised, and Jane nodded again.

Darcy easily found the obsidian right where he somehow knew it would be – in the bottom drawer of Elizabeth's dresser, underneath a pile of embroidery linen. His heart pounding, Darcy sat on the bed, and somewhere in his brain, he again heard a voice say, "It will always show you home."

The smooth black surface gave way to an image. _Elizabeth! _She was in a moving carriage, her face pale and drawn_, _and with a motley of colors. There was a nasty cut on her temple now scabbed with dried blood. Her lovely eyes were closed in agony … her mouth bleeding and gagged. Darcy found himself trembling in anger. _My God, Elizabeth, what have they done to you?_

He vehemently willed for the mirror to show him more to glean her location. The image pulled out to give him a vista. A hackney - he ruefully noted no company name on its side. A gnarled oak - he knew that tree that stood beside a rock! Feeling more hopeful now of location, Darcy now wanted to know who took Elizabeth. To his horror, he saw Elizabeth choking, her eyes rolling back – and then a hand yank out the gag from her mouth as she vomited. _God, are her hands bound too?_ Darcy asked in agony. Someone pulled Elizabeth's hair and with a gasp, Darcy sprung to his feet and bolted out of the room, and out of the house to the front gate where Nicholas had been waiting with their two mounts.

"Mr. Darcy!" Jane cried, running after him when she saw him rush out of Elizabeth's room in thunderous fury. Darcy was about to mount Gillebride, but paused to face Jane, his face still twitching in barely restrained anger. Jane saw him holding the obsidian mirror and, despite the question in her eyes, simply whispered, "Bring Lizzy home."

Darcy nodded, then with a fluid motion, jumped up on Gillebride's back, and off he and Nicholas went. When they were far out of the view of Longbourn, Nicholas shouted for Darcy to stop. "William! William, stop! _Darcy!" _Nicholas had used his best commander voice, hoping it would be the one to cut through the fury that he knew was slashing across his cousin's heart. Darcy turned to Nicholas, with Gillebride stomping impatiently, and every line of his face was etched with the instinct of murderous rage. Trying to be the voice of reason, Nicholas said, "William, never ride to battle without a plan. _Talk to me!"_

"Plan? Plan is to kill the bastard Wickham … and send him and his accomplice Hetta Younge to hell!" Darcy yelled.

"How do you know this?"

"Through this!" Darcy gritted, pulling out Elizabeth's obsidian mirror. His breath was coming in ragged pants as he tried to calm himself down, and finally in a more subdued tone, said. "And this." He put up his fisted hand to show Nicholas the ring. "It's the Obsidian, Nicholas … Elizabeth was chosen for the mirror as I was chosen for the ring."

"William … these are old family stories …"

"No!" Darcy in exasperation ran his hand through his hair. "I did not know until this morning that Elizabeth had the mirror, but the ring somehow revealed it to me. That was why I had to go to Longbourn. The mirror showed me the exact events. I saw Elizabeth in a carriage, bound and gagged, and with her were Wickham and Younge. They were on their way to London."

At his cousin's skeptical look, Darcy edged Gillebride close to Nicholas on his mount, and said, "The ring, Nicholas, often warned me of big danger, ever since I was twelve years old. How do you think I knew to look for you when you fell down the cliff in Matlock when you were eight and ten, and I two years younger? I was in Pemberley, and you were missing for ten hours and could have died! I rode hard and fast because I sensed you were in danger. Then there was Georgiana this summer … I saw her in my mind with Wickham, and I knew I had to rush over there … just in time. Nicholas, it was the ring." Nicholas continued to look at Darcy uncertainly ... and yet ...

Darcy fixed Nicholas with an earnest gaze, and whispered almost plaintively, "Please, Nicky … I will do this alone if I have to, but I wish to God I would _not_ have to. I do not want to lose any more time."

Nicholas had not heard that nickname from William for years, and suddenly he saw not just the man he had always taken care of since they were young – but the same one who reciprocated his care with every measure of fervor and generosity of spirit. His friend. His _brother. _Deciding quickly, Nicholas now nodded to him.

"They most probably will head to Younge's boarding house in the East End, William … or if not there, I am certain they will make a stop there sometime. It is a good starting point for us. We need weapons, William, so go to Darcy House first, and wait for me there. I won't be long behind you."

"Where are you going?" William's lightened voice showed his relief.

"I have to go back to Netherfield and alert Henson and Clarence to follow us … a carriage will most likely be needed. I will catch up with you soon enough. Now go! And William … be careful, my brother."

With a grateful smile and a teary nod, Darcy pulled on Gillebride, and with a command cry to the steed, set off to find Elizabeth and deal with Wickham, once and for all.

* * *

Still miles away from London, an old hackney coach went off the road to hide behind a clump of trees and bushes. Two individuals dragged a large bundle across the rough ground and rolled it down a hill, clear way out of any commuter's view. Then they readily sped away.


	13. BITTERSWEET AND STRANGE

**Author's Note: Iwritelikeaninja was a tremendous help in having me do the Scottish dialect. Much appreciated!**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open, thinking this must be the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in. She snuggled deeper into the covers, wanting to get some more sleep before those Wickham and Hetta persons …

Elizabeth bolted upright, suddenly remembering her predicament. She sat there with eyes wide, alert ... and confused.

She was in a beautiful, bright and airy bedchamber of soft lilac and buttercream colors on the wall, accented by a painting of a purple rose here or there. Elizabeth was relieved to see herself fully clothed in her usual cotton nightdress, although how it got here she had no idea. Her head ached just a little, and her wrists and ankles were a trifle sore. But, aside from being hungry and thirsty, there was nothing that would approximate her trauma of the last few hours. Was it truly just the last few hours? The last thing she remembered was choking and not being able to breathe …

"Oh, there you are, dearie … awfy glad yir awake. But lie down a wee moment longer, an' everything will be fine."

"No! Do not come near me," Elizabeth balled herself into a corner of the bed, against the headboard. "I will scream."

The woman sighed. She was middle-aged and roundish in a grandmotherly fashion, and her mouth curved in what seemed to be a perpetual smile. She also wore an oversized apron that made her look very domestic. Looking at her, Elizabeth wondered if she really could be afraid of someone so maternal … but given her most recent experiences, she was overridden with caution and fear.

"Oh, lassie, ye have been through sae much this morning," the woman sighed ruefully. "Why dinnae ye just relax among they pillows, and I promise no one will disturb ye 'til it's time." She remained standing, allowing Elizabeth to look her over in suspicious silence.

"Where am I?" she finally demanded, but even as she said that, Elizabeth felt a heavy drowsiness start to overtake her, and she tried to shake it off.

The woman tilted her head at Elizabeth wondering how to best answer. Deciding that directness was the best recourse, she replied, "Scotland. But only in your mind, dearie, and m'afraid you winnae remember it at all."

"What is that … supposed to … mean?" She was fast sinking to sleep. "Why will I not remember? And what … would I be doing … in Scotland?"

The other woman simply whispered. "Ye'll be safe noo, Miss Elizabeth."

"How do you … know my name? Who are you?" Elizabeth had sunk down back into the pillows and felt her eyes to be very heavy, and barely registered the woman's response.

"Och, m'lady, I hiv been waiting tae meet you. I am Mrs. Potts," she said smilingly."Now rest. Master William will ge' ye soon."

Elizabeth barely opened slits with her eyes, but now all she saw were leaves, rocks and barren shrubs and trees. _It was all a dream_, she said to herself, and sadly drifted off to slumber with only one source of comfort:_ Wiiliam will get me soon._

* * *

Darcy rode fast and furious on the way to London. He knew that with a thoroughbred like Gillebride, there was a remote possibility he would catch up with a coach with about a three-hour head start – but if not, he felt compelled to reach London quickly and get to his townhouse, retrieve his weapons and confront Wickham and Hetta Younge. Somewhere there too, he was to wait for his cousin, but he was not too averse to going on his own.

He allowed Gillebride to slow down for now into a less strenuous gallop – the stallion had been on breakneck run for an hour. From a distance he could already see the smog of London, ugly as ever, but to Darcy, it was a welcome sight. There! There was the gnarled oak he saw in the mirror. Darcy slowed down towards it to breathe deeply. It was almost as if he could feel Elizabeth nearby … so close …

"What the …." he exclaimed in surprise when he glanced at his ring. It almost appeared like shooting out sparks in the sunlight, as the colors intensified to more than how Darcy remembered it ever doing. He gasped. It was not black and smoky gray … it was all of brilliant colors dancing in the light of the sun!

Darcy jumped down from Gillebride and eagerly scanned the area for signs of Elizabeth. "Elizabeth!" he started shouting. Not hearing anything, he hurriedly took out the mirror from his pocket, and willed it to show him something. There! Elizabeth among leaves and trees … _but where?_

"Elizabeth!" he shouted again. He checked the image on the mirror to compare landmarks, but nothing seemed grab him. Instinct totally guiding him now, Darcy clasped his obsidian ring and concentrated on Elizabeth. The image on the mirror did not change … but Darcy - above the rustle of the leaves, above the whistle of the wind - heard something distinctive: a voice.

_To your right._

Darcy stood very still. He remembered finding Nicholas this same way – among craggy rocks – when his cousin fell off the cliff many years ago. Now, as he did then, he closed his eyes and listened again.

_To your right. _

Darcy slowly turned and walked in that direction, with strong thumping in his chest.

_Down the hill._

This time he broke into a run, sliding on his abdomen just where the slope began. He peered downhill and could see nothing but leaves. "Elizabeth?" he called then implored, "Please answer ... Elizabeth?" Darcy closed his eyes again and tried to listen. There was nothing. He looked at his still-brilliantly shining ring, and in the mirror there still was Elizabeth among the leaves. But the air felt different. Darcy peered more closely and saw a leaf storm – not unusual for this time of year, true, but Darcy was holding on to every bit of hope he could. And as he watched the leaves being lifted off of the ground in that dervish, he saw it – a garment, a brown woolen garment, like Elizabeth's pelisse this morning … a hand …!

_"Elizabeth!" _Darcy shouted, half fear, half ecstacy, as he sprung up and started running down the slope towards the figure lying there. Tree branches were snagging his coat and even slashing across his face, but he noticed none of that. When he reached the prone form, he crouched beside it and with trembling fingers, brushed away the leaves and gently turned back the raiment. He gasped and fell back in shock.

_It was not Elizabeth._

"No … no," Darcy cried. "No, no, no …! Elizabeth …!" In anguish, Darcy put his face on the ground and sobbed.

"Please …" came a whisper, so soft at first that Darcy in his despair did not hear. It was the person among the leaves, the wound on his torso still trickling a little blood. "Please …" he said again. He was having difficulty breathing, but was doing his best to communicate to Darcy, who paused, then tearfully crept closer to the man. "Girl …" the man whispered, and with a feeble gesture, pointed to another figure on the slope some ways away, having rolled further than he did. Heart in his throat, Darcy ran, stumbled and crawled to the prone form, and frantically turned it over.

_"ELIZABETH!"_

Now Darcy was laughing and crying at the same time, joy and relief rendering him a little crazed at the moment, but he hardly cared. Elizabeth was _here! _ He brushed away the debris from her face and ran his thumbs gently over her cuts and bruises. _I have you._ He felt for a pulse on her neck. It was there, but faintly ... and in relief, tears pooled at Darcy's eyes and fell on Elizabeth's mottled complexion.

Darcy knew he should not have, but he could not help it. He put his face down and planted a soft, butterfly kiss on Elizabeth's pale lips … and lingered. And he did it again.

A small sigh escaped from the young lady, and her eyelids fluttered. Opening them tiredly, she uttered only one sentence before closing them in gentle sleep, with a slight smile on her face. "I wanted to see Blue Eyes again."

With a teary chuckle, Darcy replied, "Always."

At once, Darcy set himself to work. Taking off his great coat, he covered Elizabeth to keep her warm. Determining she had no broken bones (something he learned from Nicholas), he gently laid her out to a more comfortable position. Then he readily went to the man he first found – Darcy was glad that he was still alive and actually quite alert. He had a bullet wound on the side of his stomach area, and quickly, Darcy took the pelisse to use it to stop the bleeding. The man was taking in short gasps of air.

"The girl … alright?" he rasped.

"She will be, sir. Please, do not move. Help will be here soon."

"Tried to help … they were hurting her. He shot … me. No witnesses, he said. Took away … my coach …"

_The coachman, _Darcy realized. Wickham tried to kill him! Feeling a wave of gratitude to this stranger for trying to help Elizabeth, Darcy quickly said, "Please, sir … just tell me your name for now, and conserve your strength. I promise, help is coming." He prayed for Nicholas to arrive soon, then Henson and Clarence with the coach. Thank God for Nicholas' foresight that a coach would be needed!

"Lucius Tanner, sir. Yes … rest." And his eyes closed. For a panicked instant, Darcy thought he was dead, but realized that he was almost asleep. He said gently, "Mr. Tanner, try to keep the pressure on your wound to control the bleeding. I will be back immediately." He rushed back to Elizabeth, and lying low close to her, he whispered, "Elizabeth, try to keep awake. Can you open your eyes for me?" Elizabeth hardly did more than a flutter, but to Darcy, that was good enough. For now.

He began earnestly praying again that his companions would arrive when, from the top of the hill, a voice called, "Ahoy! Onybody doon there?" It was a voice that Darcy did not recognize, and he was instantly alert. He felt for the pocket knife he always carried about his person, cursing that he had not come armed with anything else. Again the voice said, a little tentatively, "Ah … saw yer cuddie fae th' road … need help, onybody?" The stranger peered more closely and saw Darcy on the ground. "Ahoy, sire! Is everythin' a'right? You needin help?"

Darcy warred within himself, and quickly assessed the newcomer. Slightly built and dressed modestly but with good taste. Darcy decided to accept his assistance – after all, there were two injured parties, and only one of him, and he was loathed to leave one to attend to the other. Speaking masterfully now, he responded, "Yes, if you would. I have a man and a young lady here … the man has been shot. Please, help me carry him to the top, while I carry the woman."

"Aye, sire," the stranger immediately answered and skillfully hopped down the hill to where they were. On closer inspection of the man, Darcy felt better. He was probably about the same age as himself, slightly smaller and with a friendly, open face and kind eyes that appeared to be permanently crinkled into a smile. He reminded Darcy of Bingley. The man knelt beside Tanner at once. "Och, me good man, ye bin hurt bad, eh?" He tut-tutted, then said rather thoughtfully as he inspected the wound, "Let's see noo … Go ahead, sire, an' carry th' lassie to th' tap. I will do whit I can fir this fella."

Hesitating for just a second, Darcy nodded, and gingerly hoisted Elizabeth onto his arms and went up the hill. He saw Gillebride and another horse (presumably the stranger's) eating grass in a clearing, and chose a shaded spot semi-hidden from the road. Gently, he laid Elizabeth down. Ascertaining that she was still responsive to cues by asking her to open her eyes, he stood to go back to check on Mr. Tanner, but saw the man capably borne in the arms of the stranger, although with some strain. Darcy went over to take Tanner from him, but he refused, saying, "Carryin' me mother's large pots o' stew hae given me some practice, sire." Nonetheless, he was relieved when he was finally able to put Mr. Tanner down beside Elizabeth. Lightly touching her shoulder, he asked softly, "And the young lassie is doing a'ight, sire?"

Darcy nodded, then went to introduce himself, "I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire, sir, and these are friends of mine who encountered … umm … rogue travellers earlier on. Please, may I impose on your kindness a little more?"

"Certainly."

Darcy quickly explained that his cousin should be coming up the road from Hertfordshire. "And after him, sir, my carriage bearing the monogrammed Darcy crest of like so" he showed him his signet ring "would be coming this way, too. If you would just give my cousin, then my coachman word to hurry, and point them to our general location, I would be very grateful. I need to have a physician for these two."

The man smiled and replied, "I understand, sire … but would those be the folks ye are wantin'?" He pointed down the road, and true enough, from the vantage point of up the hill where they were, Darcy could see a lone rider in army regimentals - and not far behind is a coach and four he recognized as his.

Much cheered, Darcy turned back to thank the man who had already whistled for his horse. As the steed galloped up to his master, Darcy reached out his hand and said, "I cannot thank you enough, sir, but I would like to try. Please, may I get your name? I am hopeful our paths may cross again."

The man laughed a jolly laugh, revealing a gap in his front teeth that Darcy thought lent an almost innocent look to him. "Per'aps they will, Mr. Darcy. I am just known as Philip, although me mother hae a nickname for me that mebbe I shall tell ye when we next meet."

Darcy smiled. "I am looking forward to it. You are Scottish?"

"Aye. Born and bred in Renfrewshire. Now, sire, I hafta be goin', if I am to hae me Ma's delicious stew I spoke of. Take care, Mr. Darcy." And with a final shake of the hand, Philip mounted his horse and rode away. Darcy watched him go, much buoyed by his very cordial feelings towards the man.

He saw Nicholas fast coming up and waved, and bent down to whisper to both Elizabeth and Mr. Tanner. They were looking much, much better now. _Huh. _Elizabeth's bruises had faded considerably, and she was not as pale ... and Mr. Tanner's breathing was much more even. With a curious frown, Darcy gingerly lifted the blood soaked garments that Tanner held on his abdomen, and gasped.

The man's wound was gone.

* * *

**Author's note: greenofireland, your recommendations on various stuff have been attended to. Thank you for the suggestions! I can not send a pm to you anymore ... ?**


	14. HERE THE BEAUTY, AND THERE THE BEAST

**Chapter 13**

Darcy sat in his London study early that Friday morning with his coffee, ruminating on the events of yesterday. Above everything else, he was overjoyed that they had Elizabeth back safe and sound. He at once dispatched one of his personal riders back to Netherfield, to let Bingley – and consequently the Bennets – know that Elizabeth had been found, and that she was in excellent condition (affirmed by the physician he requested to speak privately with Miss Elizabeth) and resting in the Darcy townhouse after her ordeal. Beyond that, Darcy did not divulge anything else, to lessen the chances of Elizabeth's name being embroiled in gossip, although Darcy assured them that Elizabeth would have the full story as soon as she was recovered enough to travel home. _I hope it would not be for many days yet, _Darcy thought, though he was sure Elizabeth would not allow her family to be kept waiting long, especially as truly, she was healing very well.

_Miraculously, in fact._ Not to mention yet the complete disappearance of Mr. Tanner's gunshot wound. _That would be unexplainable, _Darcy mused, _except to those who know the gift of the Obsidian_. He could only be thankful to be the indirect recipient of it.

He recalled what Mr. Tanner said, "I dunno what to say, Mr. Darcy, sir. One minute I lay there, thinkin' I was gon'ta die with that big hole in my body … and next, there was that strange man pushing down on my wound like so! Crikey, it hurt like hell, sir - pardon th' language - an' I saw all black, like. Next thin' I saw was me self riding your smart coach, sir, feeling fit as a fiddle! Canno' explain it at all, Mr. Darcy."

_It was Philip. _Darcy wished he had asked more questions of the amiable stranger, but he was preoccupied with Elizabeth at that time. _Perhaps we will meet again, as Philip implied. _He looked at his obsidian ring. It was its usual deep and mysterious black, although there were little points of bright colors that seemed to swim just below the surface. Darcy smiled. _All calm and quiet._

The door to his study opened with a vigorous swing, and in walked his cousin Nicholas, whistling. _Well, there goes the quiet,_ thought Darcy wryly, watching Nicholas throw a careless salute as he crossed the room in long strides to help himself to coffee and pastry. Darcy calmly waited for his irrepressible cousin to settle with his booty, all the while holding back the urge to scold the soldier for dropping crumbs all over his floor.

"Well," Nicholas at last began between mouthfuls, "Lucius Tanner has been brought home, at his request, and amply compensated for his stolen coach. The man felt guilty for being part of Miss Elizabeth's abduction, although he swore he had no idea beforehand, so he at first refused to take money. He relented only when I threatened to talk to his wife whom he is trying to keep from knowing of his near-death. Did not want to worry her, you see, because of three wee ones. That stolen coach was his only livelihood– a hackney for private contracts, I suppose is what you may call it. I have his address for reference later on." Darcy nodded.

Nicholas kept on. "Now, our business with Wickham." Darcy and Nicholas had positioned men to watch the location where Tanner had picked up Hetta Younge (as suspected, it was her boarding house). At first entry yesterday, they did not find the couple there, and nothing had gone on that location since then. Darcy was getting impatient, but Nicholas said, "Hetta Younge will not abandon her source of income easily. She and Wickham will show up." Darcy huffed and Nicholas peered into his cousin's brooding face. "And when they do, William ... what then?"

Without skipping a beat, Darcy replied with steel in his voice, "They pay."

A soft knock on the door made the cousins turn, and as Darcy bade enter, his London housekeeper Mrs. Griffin entered, followed by Elizabeth. _She is wearing Georgiana's dress,_ Darcy thought with pleasure. "Pardon me, Mr. Darcy, but Miss Elizabeth insisted on seeing you …"

Darcy immediately walked to the newcomer and solicitously led her to the sofa. "Miss Elizabeth! You should not have gotten up, madam, you are still recuperating." And with a brief nod to Mrs. Griffin, the housekeeper left the room.

With a sigh, Elizabeth allowed herself to be led but refused to sit down on the sofa to look at Mr. Darcy determinedly. "With all due respect, sir, I know I have recovered well enough. Mr. Darcy, I have come to ask of a favor … oh!" Elizabeth was suddenly aware of someone else in the room, and embarrassed for her outburst, turned toward the man in military clothes. "Pardon me, that was terribly rude …"

"Not to worry, madam," Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled, "I do it all the time."

To this, Darcy lightly snorted before making the introductions, and with a gesture to have everyone seated, Darcy supplied, "My cousin was instrumental to your safe return, Miss Elizabeth."

Nicholas quickly chimed in, "I highly doubt that, William. It was something … ahh … extraordinary that allowed us to find you, madam." He looked at Elizabeth with meaning, which escaped the lady for a moment, before she caught the colonel glancing at Mr. Darcy's ring.

"The ring!" Elizabeth gasped. Unthinkingly, she reached from where she was on the sofa to Darcy on the nearby armchair, taking hold of his ringed hand to gaze at the obsidian. Nicholas raised his eyebrows. _These two are closer than I imagined,_ he thought, and resolved to observe them closely. Elizabeth continued to speak, almost absently, in wonder, "The ring helped you find me?"

"Yes," Darcy replied quietly, "along with the obsidian mirror, Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth brought her hands up to her mouth as she let out another gasp. "You got it!" she breathed. "Do my parents know?"

"Not of the obsidian, no," answered Darcy, coloring a little at his "theft". "But I gave them my word that I would find you. Nothing would have induced me to stop."

"But how did you know? About the mirror, I mean? I did not have the opportunity to tell you …" She watched as Mr. Darcy got up to walk behind his desk to retrieve something. It was the mirror, which he handed to Elizabeth as he sat back on his armchair.

"The ring revealed it to me, Miss Elizabeth. These two are connected. Do you see the similarity of design?" Elizabeth nodded. Darcy let out a deep breath. "As I told you, there is a story attached to the Obsidian, madam … one that has been passed down through generations of Fitzwilliams and Hamiltons, the heritage I share with my cousin Nicholas. Would you like to hear it now?"

At Elizabeth's mystified nod, Darcy related the story faithfully shared with him mainly by his mother, and his grandparents before they passed, and sometimes by an old-time servant by the name of Mrs. Potts. At the mention of that name, something tickled at Elizabeth's mind, but felt it beyond her grasp to pinpoint, so she threw herself fully into listening to Mr. Darcy, not speaking right down to the very end.

Darcy concluded with a smile. "It is said in our family, Miss Elizabeth, that the marriage of Gilbert FitzWilliam and Isabella Randolph remained a beacon for others to follow, a true partnership of mind, body and soul. They kept the lesson of the Obsidian all their lives, living humbly yet hopefully, and finding success in most things as long as they did them together. Trite as it may sound, they _did _live happily ever after," He then took off the ring and held it openly on his palm. "This ring has stayed with those of Hameldone blood, but it is not at every generation that its gift becomes manifest. But for some reason, I was chosen."

He breathed deeply. "The mirror, on the other hand, disappears from the clan, sometimes for generations at a time, until the Keepers, mysterious enough by themselves, find someone worthy to carry on its legacy of … of … ah …" _Blast, how can I say the word 'love' without frightening her?_

"Protection," Nicholas piped in. "Legacy of protection, Miss Elizabeth." He had been listening to the story intently, for although he had heard it often enough, recent events made him look at the narrative with new eyes. He caught Darcy's eye, and there was just the subtlest hint of gratitude, for Nicholas knew full well what word had been missing from Darcy's re-telling. "We grew up with this story, Miss Elizabeth, and to be honest, nobody saw it as more than a bedtime fairytale told to the children in our family, not even William. But that changed for him at some point, and for that I am thankful, as apparently I too have been the recipient of its protective power through William. May I ask how you came to possess the mirror?"

Elizabeth sat there dazed. What a fantastical story, and yet … she wholeheartedly believed it. Her experience with the mirror precluded anything else. She took a deep breath and, her eyes fixed on the mirror as though visiting a memory, she began to speak, almost trance-like. "It was given to me when I was four years old." She sighed. "Some details may be a little blurry, but I remember being separated from Papa briefly while we were in London. While waiting for him to come, this kind young man kept me company. We played chess. Then to help me be unafraid, he showed me an image of my Papa in the mirror. He said I may keep the mirror, for it would always show me home … which I always thought of as truly amusing as that was the last time I ever saw Papa in the mirror. Instead I always saw …"

Elizabeth broke off with a slight gasp and with a quick look at the gentlemen, particularly at Mr. Darcy, she blushed furiously and brought her eyes down to cling to the mirror. To her dismay, her hands started trembling.

The room was thick with silence.

"Me. You always saw me." Darcy's voice was soft and low.

Elizabeth felt hot and cold at the same time, and could not look at Mr. Darcy as the silence stretched.

"That was how you knew about my sister Georgiana, even before we talked at the pond."

_"Yes."_ Elizabeth's voice was hardly more than a wisp of a breeze, and she started trembling violently, an entire hurricane of emotions churning inside, not the least of which were those borne from yesterday's ordeal. Still, as bravely as she could, she continued, "I was so young, Mr. Darcy, and I could hardly understand what I was seeing, so sometimes I put the mirror away for a long time. But every time I took it out, sir, there was always you, just glimpses, you understand … and … and …" Elizabeth knew she was blabbering, but could not stop.

_"Thank you."_

Unexpectedly for Elizabeth, Darcy put one large hand over her clasped ones that rested atop the obsidian mirror. "Thank you," he said again. "All those years, especially the difficult times, I felt someone watching over me and … and caring about me, at least."

"I always wanted you to be safe, Mr. Darcy," whispered Elizabeth in a tiny, tiny voice, as her eyes went to meet those blue ones she had known for so many years. They gazed at each other, in a room now swathed in reverence. Something had bonded them even in years past, neither of them knowing, though now they were uncertain as to what it truly meant … for them.

Nicholas Fitzwilliam sat completely forgotten by the other two. He did not mind at all, as this discovery was just a bit too stupendous for his military mind to take in all at once. But he understood _now_ that everything about William – all of the man's experiences whether good or bad, all of those decisions that he had made - pointed to his arriving at this HERE and NOW. Everything in his cousin's life led to Elizabeth Bennet, a simple country girl - gently-bred, certainly - but totally out of the purview of the Ton. _Or perhaps they are the ones out of her league, if William's accounts of her are true. She is a gem._

He looked at William now and marveled at the soft look that suffused his face. Not even Georgiana, whom William adored, had EVER been able to put that look of utter peace on him. Nicholas glanced at the obsidian ring on William's finger, where it touched Miss Elizabeth's hands lying on the enchanted mirror. It was glowing with the light of the midday sun. Nicholas had never seen it so. _And so lingered the proof, _Nicholas thought contentedly.

He was just about to leave the room to allow some privacy for his cousin and Miss Elizabeth (_within reason!)_, when a sharp knock came at the door. Before Darcy had even time to answer, a well-built man, one of Darcy's contingent assigned to watch Younge's boarding house, came in and addressed the gentlemen at once.

"'e's back, Colonel, Mr. Darcy! Wickham and the woman are back in the 'ouse, and they sure look none to 'appy when they arrived, sir. But Wickham left again, sir, and we followed 'im the best we could, until we figgered there was only one place he'd be a-goin' in the vicinity, sir. So I ran ahead, sir."

The man took a deep breath, and then fixed his eyes on Mr. Darcy. "We believe that 'e's on his way to see you, Mr. Darcy. Now."

* * *

Everything was a blur for George Wickham. He remembered a heated argument with his lover Mrs. Younge after he announced that he still would go to Darcy for ransom money. "He must be here in London now mobilizing his troops," he sneered. "He does not know that the girl is dead, you know, and I can make him believe I still have the chit."

But then Hetta , who had been blaming him non-stop for yesterday's disaster, kept saying that Darcy would not fall for it. "He is too smart, Wickham," she shouted angrily. "You cannot outwit him, you cannot have what he has. You," she added with dripping disdain, "are nothing but dirt on his boots that he will easily wipe away!"

Now Wickham was washing his hands carefully. He had calmly changed his clothes into a gentleman's attire (_a training received from Old Mr. Darcy himself, bless his soul_!) that he had stocked up at the boarding house. He had an appointment to keep. By the end of the day, Wickham knew he would be thirty thousand pounds richer. Whistling happily, he crossed the room, careful not to step on any red puddle on the floor which, he said to himself, _I must remind Hetta to clean._

The walls were dank and sticky. And there on the carpet lay the body of Hetta Younge, a cleaver slashed right down her skull.


	15. UNMASKED, UNVEILED

**Chapter 14**

George Wickham was fuming. The stupid footman would not let him in even with his declared urgent business with Darcy. Instead, he was made to wait on the front steps as the servant checked to see if the master was receiving visitors, and the door was promptly shut in his face! Five minutes he waited – in that time, he noted that his borrowed coachman was at least invited by the stable boys to bring his carriage round the back for a quick rubdown of the horses as well as some apple treats. _Well, at least that is a good sign. We might be here a while._

Finally the door opened, and there before him was the stoic face of the butler who, like most of the Darcys' senior staff, had served the family for as long as Wickham could remember. "Melville! Lovely day today, eh, old chap?" greeted a cheeky Wickham.

With a glare that only made Wickham chuckle, the butler led him inside to sit him in the Mahogany Room. This pleased Wickham even more, for he knew from experience that the Mahogany Room, like its counterpart in Pemberley, was reserved only for "the most serious and urgent of business discussions." This boded well for his aspirations! His eyes took in everything in the elegantly furnished room, all set in deep shades designed to either impress or intimidate, depending on who the negotiations were with. Wickham grunted his contempt. _Well, I am neither impressed nor cowered, Darcy … today I will have my due. _Nonchalantly, he helped himself to the decanter of brandy sitting on the sideboard, and downed almost a full glass in one. And then another.

_Ahh, _he breathed._ This is what I'm made for. The good stuff. None of that cheap tankard ale that has been forced on me._ He took another and, bringing another full glass with him, went to sit on one of the luxurious leather armchairs to wait for Darcy.

His impatience started to grow when a quarter of an hour had passed and Darcy had not appeared. In between, he had refilled his glass twice, and now was feeling churlish as he stared at the fire remembering things … like that damned Bennet girl and the coachman … and Hetta Younge … and something about a butcher's knife ... Wickham started perspiring unaccountably, and his hands began to shake.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and finally the door opened. In mock cheer, Wickham raised his glass to the newcomer. "Darcy! Took you long eno …." He turned … then promptly dropped the glass, his greeting ending in a short scream.

It was not Darcy who stood there, but Tanner the coachman, pale-skinned and bloodied. Wickham stepped back in shock and tripped over a footstool. He fumbled to steady himself … and when he looked up again at the doorway, the apparition was gone. Wickham tried to even out his breathing. _I have drunk too much of the brandy, that is all, _he told himself, and closed his eyes in relief.

_"Wickham!" _a voice growled by the doorway, and Wickham lifted his eyes in near-panic. Nicholas Fitzwilliam crossed the room in quick strides and hauled Wickham up furiously. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Wickham struggled against Nicholas' hold, then glanced at the open door. Nobody was there. Breathing deeply to recoup his senses, Wickham knocked off the other man's hands and straightened his clothes. His heart was still hammering, but he refused to show weakness. "Don't touch me again," he snarled. "I am not here to see you. I want to see Darcy. Where is he?"

"I am here." It was a low voice that came from the doorway, but Wickham jumped slightly and turned his head. Darcy came in slowly and smoothly, his face calm and inscrutable save for the tightening muscle along the jaw. His eyes were fixed on Wickham – a picture of a panther circling his prey and just as deadly. Sensing this, Wickham matched Darcy's footsteps and warily eyed him. _An age-old power play, _thought Wickham, _but he will not get to me._ _I have the upper hand._

"I have her," Wickham said without preamble. He was met with silence as the two men circled each other.

"Harm me in anyway, and you will never know where she is," he added.

Still no reply. Darcy's stride and glare were unnerving, and to break the impasse, Wickham squared his shoulders, planted his feet and returned Darcy's look with a cocky lift of his eyebrow and a sneer. "Unless you just want me to taste her myself."

To that, Darcy stopped his pace but remained silent as he continued to stare. "I see that got your attention," smirked Wickham. He shot a quick glance at Nicholas and smugly ordered, "Send your flunky away, Darcy, so you and I can discuss business."

Nicholas snorted his disgust. "No. I stay, for when Darcy is through with you, it would be my pleasure to string you up my horse and drag your sorry ass all through London."

Wickham's eyes narrowed and swept to Darcy who was as impassive as ever. "As always, Darcy needs somebody to hold his hand," he derided. "Very well. But remember that if you harm one hair of me, you will never get to see the girl. Now, old coot … are you going to speak at all?"

"What do you want?" Darcy growled.

His nemesis grinned evilly. "Ah, straight to the point!" His leer abruptly fading, he took a step toward Darcy. "Thirty of your thousand pound notes, Darcy … now. Another twenty when I bring the girl to you, after I prove the bank notes are good. I will inform you of the manner of exchange when I get the first installment." He looked at the cousins, "And do not have anyone follow me. My associate will know what to do with the girl if I do not return within the hour."

"How do I know you have not harmed her?" Darcy asked.

Wickham paused, then gave a sardonic smile. "I suppose you do not."

The two men stared each other down – and a tense, frigid silence stretched for a long moment. Then slowly, one side of Darcy's mouth curved into a cold, calculating smirk, and with his voice hardly more than a whisper, he spoke. "I did not think you were this stupid, Wickham."

Next thing he knew, Wickham was grabbed by the collar and pushed backwards across the room, then with a crash was pinned to the wall. Gone was the placid Darcy – the man before him, now with darkened face and eyes of fire, was an avenger, his arm a band of steel across Wickham's neck and his voice low and deadly. "You come into my house and threaten me, and try to extort money from me ... again! You have learned nothing from the past, you miserable cur! You bluster and rant, but your voice is nothing but pebbles falling on the floor – they strike nothing! I have resources you cannot even begin to imagine, and whatever you think you are threatening me with, _they … signify … nothing!"_ At each word, Darcy slammed Wickham against the wall, as in his fury he had even lifted Wickham, himself a tall man, a few inches off the floor. "Tell me, you lousy excuse for a man, why should I not kill you here and now, and rid the world of you? Give me one good reason _now!" _Again he slammed Wickham hard.

"I will kill her, I swear, Darcy!" Wickham sputtered, trying to loosen Darcy's iron grasp on him. "I will kill her, and you will never find where she is."

"I do not even know whom you are talking about!" Darcy shouted. He had never truly been a violent man, but now, it seemed that all the anger of the years, all the resentment, had built up to this frightening crescendo. With one violent sweep, Darcy hurled Wickham almost halfway across the room, knocking over some furniture and having him hit the floor with a deafening crash. As he tried to get up to fight back and dirty, Wickham happened to look over at the doorway, and gasped.

_Miss Elizabeth Bennet stood there, pale and disheveled, mouth gagged and hands bound._

Wickham squeaked.

Then Darcy blocked his line of vision and pushed him down aggressively by the neck, glaring down at him. "I have had enough of you." He pulled Wickham to his feet, and Wickham quickly looked at the doorway. It was empty.

Darcy shoved his captive down into an armchair. "This is the last time you ever sully anything inside my house, scum!" And his fist came crushing down Wickham's nose.

Wickham was dazed for a moment, but in his haze he knew there was something he could use, his final, resounding revenge on this man he had hated all his life. His hands reached towards the back of his trouser belt to retrieve it …

"Ack, ack, ack!" Nicholas Fitzwilliam had cocked his revolver and had it pointed straight at Wickham's head. "Not so fast, dirtbag. Besides," he smirked, "while Darcy was throwing you around like a sack of potatoes, your weapon fell." And with a sneer, he held up the gun by the trigger loop with one finger. "Too bad it did not go off and send a bullet through you. It would have been a happy happenstance."

Darcy reached over to get the weapon. "This is the gun you used on me last Monday."

Wiping his bloodied nose, Wickham fumed, "If I did, you would not be standing there. I am not the only one after you. I saw her."

"Hetta Younge."

To the cousins' surprise, Wickham started chuckling - cackling, even - this lasting for a minute or so, and trying much of Darcy's patience. Slowly the chuckles turned into a full-blown hysterical laughter interspersed by sobs, as Wickham rocked back and forth and would not stop. "Hetta. Hetta!" he cackled. "There she is ... look! Three of them by the door. Do you see them?" His maniacal laughter reverberated throughout the room, then melted into whimpers as Wickham folded his body unto itself.

Darcy and Nicholas looked at each other, puzzled at first, but slowly comprehending. _Wickham's mind had caved. _Years of narcissistic self-delusion and propagated entitlements – topped with crushing disappointments as today – had rendered his mind incapable of perceiving realism. Whether this be permanent or just the effects of the multiple shocks of today - or whether it was a ruse - remained to be seen.

For in the time that Darcy had kept Wickham waiting earlier to have his demanded audience, the cousins had sent men to Younge's boarding house, and found the gruesome scene there. The Bow Street Runners were called, and having done a thorough investigation of the crime scene and told that Wickham was at the Darcy House, the law enforcers made a move to arrest the perpetrator there.

A knock on the door alerted the gentlemen, and they were grateful to find one of the investigators enter. They watched as a still laughing Wickham was led away, and both felt relief that closure to one aspect of their lives was at least imminent. Darcy sighed.

"William?" asked Nicholas. "It is well now. Miss Elizabeth is safe upstairs – a footman has made sure that she remains in her bedchamber. Tanner gets his coach back, with extra money to boot … although I am certain he will try to return that money to you. And Wickham … Wickham is finally out of your life."

Darcy turned to look at his cousin briefly, and nodded. "I know, Nicholas … I suppose I should feel joyful, but … all I see is a wasted life. And I cannot be happy about that."

"Hetta Younge was the same. A sad retribution for having shot you, among other misdeeds."

"She was not the one who fired at me, Nicky."

Nicholas paused, then groaned as his shoulders drooped resignedly. "I suppose a peaceful life for you _was_ too much to ask … for now. The ring showed you something?"

"Very briefly. More like a strong impression, and I cannot offer any proof." He was quiet for a while, then turned to face his cousin before somberly speaking.

"It was Louisa Hurst."

* * *

As the next days were the weekend, traditionally observed for rest, Elizabeth agreed to be taken back to Longbourn on Monday. On Friday late morning, after that fiasco with Wickham, Darcy again sent an express to Netherfield to deliver a message.

Charles Bingley excitedly shared the news with his siblings, and that made a tremendous difference in lifting his siblings out of the doldrums that seemed to surround them ever since Darcy had gone. Immediately Caroline began planning all of Mr. Darcy's favorite dishes and what gowns she could wear with which to greet Mr. Darcy, and all of that nonsense. _Nobody even cared about Miss Elizabeth,_ Charles thought sadly, but decided to leave his siblings to their own devices. He wrote to Mr. Bennet to share the news of Miss Elizabeth's Monday homecoming. As he sealed it, he thought to himself, _this is_ a _great opportunity to hold a ball. I shall tell my sisters during dinner tonight._

He was on his way to his bedchamber to change for supper when in Caroline's room, he heard his siblings arguing. _Was Caroline weeping? _Compelled to know what would make the stone-hard Caroline cry, Bingley stayed by the door to listen.

"Why, Louisa! Why did you do it?"

"I meant to do it for you! Somebody needed to keep Mr. Darcy away from that awful Bennet chit, and as I know that they had been meeting during mornings, I decided to make a way for him to stay in Netherfield instead of gallivanting all over this stupid countryside."

"By shooting him? Louisa!" Bingley caught his breath. _No!_

"I meant to shoot at the horse, to wound him! Or at least, I thought I might make Mr. Darcy think twice about riding off! Now stop blaming me, Caroline, and start moving towards your securing Mr. Darcy! Entrap him, if you must! You must have him!"

A resounding slap startled Bingley, and he was about to rush in and confront his sisters, when on his shoulder he felt a restraining touch. It was Dalton Hurst. "Just listen," he admonished. Caroline started shouting at her sister.

"You stupid tart! I need no entrapment, because I have charms enough to capture Mr. Darcy. Witch! What you did was not for me … it was for you! Selfish girl! For some reason, you are obsessed with Mr. Darcy, and you think you can get to him through his marriage with me! And you come up with the plan of a moron! Why, Louisa? Why?"

Silence. Bingley and Hurst stood there quietly. Finally, they heard Louisa spat. "Because, my dear sister, entrapment is your only chance. Mr. Darcy cannot ever love you. He sees you with contempt. He will tire of you soon enough, and when he does, I will be there. No one will think of a sister comforting her brother, as I would comfort Mr. Darcy. And he will be happy … with me."

Another slap. Bingley was stunned, and felt like he forgot to breathe.

"Now you know," Dalton Hurst said quietly, and left.

* * *

**AN**: _From the history notes found at the Bank of England website ... From 1725 the Bank was issuing partly printed notes for completion in manuscript. The £ sign and the first digit were printed but other numerals were added by hand, as were the name of the payee, the cashier's signature, the date and the number. Notes could be for uneven amounts, but the majority were for round sums. **By 1745 notes were being part printed in denominations ranging from £20 to £1,000. **The first fully printed notes appeared in 1853 relieving the cashiers of the task of filling in the name of the payee and signing each note individually._


	16. SILVER LININGS

**Chapter 15**

Charles Bingley sat in his study that Sunday morning. He had much to think on, especially as regards Louisa. Their father armed them all with guns for their protection in the dangerous world of trade - _but the gun was not meant to be used like this!_ Now Bingley's emotions ran from anger to sadness to confusion to being appalled. He sequestered himself all day yesterday (in fact, starting that Friday supper), so he could sort things out. His valet told him that Hurst had done the same, spending not a single second in the company of the Netherfield women.

A soft knock interrupted his musings, and resignedly he called for the person to enter. It was Dalton Hurst. Seeing the man's look of defeat and uncertainty, Bingley felt pity."Dalton," he said, quietly walking to him with his hand outstretched and leading him to one of the wingback chairs near the fireplace. "I am glad you have come."

Hurst smiled wanly. "I suppose we should talk," he replied. They sat in silence at first, then Hurst whispered, "Your sister is not at fault." Seeing Bingley's incredulous look, he quickly added, "Oh, I agree she must be held accountable for the shooting, but … for all the other things … for her feelings … she is not to blame."

Bingley eyed the weary-looking man. "What happened, Dalton? You have been married a year …"

"Fourteen months." Hurst leaned back in resignation. "I loved her, Charles. I still do. And I would do anything to have her love me too. But …" Hurst stared into the flames. "We lost our child."

Bingley sat up. "Wha …? When?"

"In June, at my father's' estate in Norfolk. Father was preparing to hand over control to me, so we went to visit. I know people think Louisa married a man with more fashion than sense, but your sister and I were good together. We knew that together, we could do anything." Hurst then put his elbows on knees while intent on the firelight. "We planned to tell my parents our news. But as we were going downstairs, she slipped … just on the last two steps, but she hit her side very hard. She seemed fine for a while, and even the physician who examined her declared her safe – but she refused to tell anyone of her pregnancy."

He mussed his hair in agitation. "Louisa stayed in bed the next few days, complaining of shoulder pain and other discomforts … until one morning she woke up in a pool of blood._" _Hurst's voice broke, and quietly, tears coursed down his face. "We lost our babe, Charles … our poor little babe … and my wife was hurting badly."

Bingley's eyes had misted too, but he could find nothing to say. Hurst breathed deeply to continue. "We were never the same after that. We wanted to conceive again – the physician said we could. Louisa insisted we try, but I … I couldn't … Charles, I couldn't … every night, I failed. I made Louisa so miserable, but I was so fearful that she would get hurt again, and … God, I am a dismal failure!"

He swiped his cheeks, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "In August we just stopped trying. That was when she thought of Darcy … I know it is a twisted idea, but it _is_ my fault, Charles. I am quite useless to her. You may despise me for your sister's sake," Hurst tried to chuckle but failed, "as I have quite lost my dignity before you."

"Dalton …" began Bingley. Respect actually blossomed in his heart for this man he wished he had taken time to know better. "You cannot blame yourself …"

"It does not matter. Louisa cannot bear the sight of me." He was silent, thinking of his next words. "Charles, I will file for annulment … nobody need know the whole story. She can claim the marriage was unconsummated, and that it was my fault. Her dowry is untouched. I will give it back. I have to let her find happiness somewhere."

"What about you?"

"I will start work on my parents' estate. It is about time I learn." Hurst let out a long breath. "I go soon after I beg for Darcy's mercy. I cannot let Louisa suffer anymore." And from there, heavy silence filled the room, as both men had nothing more to say.

Just outside the door, unknown to them, Louisa Hurst sat on the floor, weeping for the first time in months, albeit without a sound.

* * *

Monday dawned bright and early for Elizabeth at Gracechurch Street, at her aunt and uncle's home in London. She was grateful for Mr. Darcy's care and protection, especially with all that happened with Wickham and Younge – but she knew that propriety demanded she not stay overnight at a home with two bachelor gentlemen and no other lady present. Mr. Darcy quibbled, but in the end saw the rightness of her view. His only condition: he would be the one to take her back to Longbourn, as he had been charged by Mr. Bennet to "bring Lizzy home." From behind Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes and grinned at Elizabeth. _They are such boys sometimes, _Elizabeth thought amusedly.

"Elizabeth? Are you awake?" called Mildred Gardiner, Elizabeth's aunt by marriage to her Uncle Edward. Receiving a beckoning answer, she entered and sat by the young lady on her bed. "How are you feeling, dearest?" she asked, smiling gently.

Elizabeth replied with a sigh, "I am glad, Aunt Mildred, to have the ordeal behind me, and happy to be going home. Did Mr. Darcy tell you our cover story to avoid scandal? I hope I can pull it off, as I would be mortified to be the object of whispers to have been abducted by such an immoral man." It had been agreed that Elizabeth's name would not be connected to Wickham's at all – it would be recounted that Elizabeth had taken ill from accidental poisoning and had to be brought to a London specialist. As Mr. Darcy's carriage was the best-appointed and could travel fastest with three tandems, he had offered its use. Consequent to the timely intervention, Elizabeth had recovered promptly and was ready to come home after some time in the Gardiner home.

"Mr. Darcy has thought of everything," Aunt Mildred stated. At Elizabeth's wordless blush, she laughed, "Oh, Lizzy, you give yourself away! The fearless and I-have-something-to-say Miss Lizzy is more affected than she would own!"

At that, Lizzy threw herself into the arms of her aunt, and squeezed. "Oh, Aunt Mildred, it is just so confusing … it is as if I have known him forever, although we have only known each other two months, and we are very good friends. He is so intelligent, Aunt, and he teaches me things, and yet he also listens to me and relishes discussions with me … and whenever he is around, my heart beats so," she grabbed her aunt's hand to put it over her heart, "and my face feels hot, and I do not know what to say yet I also feel like laughing. Jane smiles, but I … Aunt Mildred, I laugh!"

Her aunt laughed as well, unable to keep away her recollection of a young unstoppable Elizabeth, as now. Now that young girl was on the cusp of a new life. _She has fallen in love,_ Mildred said to herself. Aloud, she said, "Alright, calm down, Lizzy, and let us talk." She brushed some hair out of Lizzy's eyes. "I think … it would do well for you to truly get to know Mr. Darcy. I am happy to hear you are good friends. He does seem to be concerned for you. Has he said anything?"

"No, Aunt, not really … except some of his life and … struggles and such."

Aunt Mildred smiled. "Friendship is always a great start, my dear, and on that same token of friendship, it will become clear to you what God would have you do. Do you understand? Do not hurry it, do not manipulate it … but enjoy it and learn as much as you can from your friend and the friendship itself."

Elizabeth nodded, then quite shyly asked, "But Aunt … you do like him? You think him amiable?"

Aunt Mildred gave a slight chuckle. "Very much so, dear." It was true. Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had been regular visitors to Gracechurch throughout the weekend, even dining there three nights in a row since Friday, allowing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner the chance to get to know the gentlemen quite well. A shared connection was even divulged. "I grew up in Lambton," Mildred Gardiner had recounted, "where I was happily known as the daughter of the mercantile master."

There was a pause, and the exuberant colonel exclaimed, "Mr. Baxter's store? You are the daughter of Mr. Baxter who had the most exquisite lemon drops and licorice in all of England?"

Mrs. Gardiner's eyes shone merrily. "Indeed, sir, and I remember when I was perhaps nine and ten, helping around the store, a boy of around ten begged for a wrap of sweets in exchange for sweeping the floor. He said it was for his younger cousin whose pet goldfish had died, as the lemon drops were his favorite."

"The cousin never saw any of those lemon drops," muttered Darcy, sending everyone into gales of laughter. As that died down, Mr. Darcy asked, "Tell me, Mrs. Gardiner … since Mr. Baxter retired, what has become of the store? I heard it was bought by an enterprising young man who turned it into one of his outlets for a successful import business? Gardiner and Baxter, Incorporated, is it?"

"Indeed," Mr. Gardiner chuckled, "and from what I understand, Theodore Reynolds, the son of the Pemberley housekeeper, is doing an outstanding job of managing the store for the owner."

Darcy grinned. "I heard the same thing as well, sir. Especially as there are no more lemon drops to be had by unscrupulous little pups who won't share." And there followed more ribbing and laughter.

_Yes, my dear, Mr. Darcy would suit you very well, _Mildred Gardiner thought now as she sat with her niece. _He is the silver lining in all this._ "Come, Lizzy," she spoke aloud, "let's get ready for the day. Mr. Darcy will bring his carriage around soon. I am going with you, and your uncle will follow later in the week."

* * *

Ashton Bennet stood atop a small rise overlooking the Longbourn fields. It had been too long since he had this kinship with the land. _I have some catching up to do_, he thought to himself.

"Mr. Bennet?" called out Felicity, his wife of three and twenty years. "Why are you out here in the cold? Come inside." Ashton Bennet had recovered after his malaise last Thursday, but his wife noticed moments of deep pensiveness, even despondency, in his demeanor that made her think he had not fully regained himself.

"Fellie." The use of the long-forgotten nickname caught the matron by surprise, more so when her husband tenderly took her hand. "Come." Standing behind her and holding her by the shoulders, he turned her to look toward the expanse. "What do you see?"

"Tenant lands preparing for harvest … Ashton, what is this about?" She faced her husband thoroughly confused. She knew that something had set off an even deeper pensiveness in him after reading the post this morning. After breakfast he headed out – apparently here.

Ashton smiled and rubbed her arms affectionately. "I see Longbourn, Fellie … in latency, not its prime. Longbourn that is mine for now … but not forever." Ashton saw her wince. This was her greatest fear – that because of the entail, they would lose their home upon the master's passing, and there would be nowhere they could live. For this reason, she had been intent on marrying off her daughters, admittedly to the point of obsession - fear was too great a master. Ashton understood, but ...

He guided her to a boulder and sat her down, then sat beside her. "Fellie, I faced a truth last Thursday, when we thought we lost Elizabeth. My greatest treasure, incomparable in every way, is our five daughters. All of them, collectively _and _individually. In that very black moment when I was wrapped up in my own mind, I knew only of one thing: I would give up Longbourn if it meant I would have all of my girls – and you – safe and sound."

Felicity was more confused. "Ashton …"

"No, please, hear me out. I received a letter today from William Collins, heir to Longbourn." At this, Felicity turned away in distress. "Felicity, please … I received a letter from him that says he intends to visit today. You and I know exactly what he wants … and chances are, aside from inspecting Longbourn, he also would want one of our girls for a wife. No, do not look so excited, my dear … judging by his letter, and from what I know of him and his father, he is not a sound choice. I will not allow him near any of my girls, unless he proves me wrong. Please trust me on this."

He sighed. "But let us put that away for now. I want to tell you what I went through in that dark hour of not knowing where Lizzy was and having no idea how to get her." He lifted Felicity's hand to his lips. "Had Mr. Darcy not intervened, we would have lost our little girl, Fellie. I realized that we have our girls only for a little while. And it is wrong, absolutely wrong, to NOT give my all to them while I can, while I still have them. And this, my dear, is my failing."

He smiled contritely. "Felicity Bennet, I ask you to forgive me. You and the girls are all that is precious to me. Not Longbourn … and yet, I must acknowledge that how I take care of Longbourn is reflective of how I take care of you. Fellie, I have failed to cherish the here and now, and in doing that, I have failed to cherish the future as well … _your _future_, _and that of my children. Look," he swept his arm across the terrain. "Longbourn's fields, producing but barely. They can do so much better. Am I to give all this up to this Mr. Collins before I see it at its prime? I think not. I _hope_ not. I intend to do better, Fellie … for my girls, for Longbourn … for you."

There was silence for a while. "You mean this?"

"With all my heart."

"But Mr. Collins …"

"Will have the estate, yes … but not our lives. The entail only owes him Longbourn and its current production at the time of … well … take-over. But if we are careful, we can set savings to rebuild the dowager house by the stream– yes, there was a dowager house, as Longbourn used to be bigger – and include it in the will should you ever need it, along with enough money to live comfortably. What do you say, Fellie? Would you give me this chance? Would you work with me?"

Ashton did not have the means to speak anymore, as suddenly a pair of arms was strung around his neck in a tight embrace, and Felicity was swaying him wildly, laughing and crying at the same time. _I have missed this cheerful girl through no one else's fault but mine,_ he thought to himself sadly, as he shared in the vigorous raptures of his wife. "I am glad I have made you happy," he whispered into her neck.

Felicity gazed at him. "You have made me more than that," she smiled. "Hopeful. Cherished." And as she brought her lips to his, she whispered, "Loved."


	17. THE SECRET LIFE OF DAYDREAMS

It was shortly after luncheon when the Darcy carriage pulled into the Longbourn drive. The travelers were eagerly met by Mr. Bennet and Jane, with the latter practically grabbing Elizabeth even before Lizzy had even properly exited the carriage. So uncanny was it to see the usually placid Jane be so indecorous, that Mr. Bennet remarked dryly, "Excitement is a much better reaction than catatonia, I suppose."

Darcy reached out his hand to the patriarch, "Mr. Bennet. I am glad to see you much recovered."

At once, Mr. Bennet turned a serious mien to the younger man, heartily shaking his proffered hand. "Sir, I know I owe it all to you." Darcy readily dismissed that assertion, and under his breath asked the Longbourn master if he received the letter regarding the cover story. In an equally quiet voice, Mr. Bennet replied, "Yes, and we have acted accordingly. Only Mrs. Bennet, Jane and I know about her abduction, and it will stay that way. But I do want to hear the whole truth from you and Elizabeth later, Mr. Darcy, for as you have determined, we know nothing." Darcy nodded, half deciding already to leave out any mention of the Obsidian._ It is too fantastical to believe,_ he thought, _and too difficult to explain to others._

Mrs. Bennet had rushed out of the house also when she realized the carriage had arrived. Quickly curtseying to the gentlemen (and noting that Mr. Darcy had brought his military cousin again), and kissing Mildred Gardiner's cheek, she turned to her two eldest daughters still locked in an embrace. She smiled wistfully. _Ashton is right … we only have these girls for a short time.  
_  
She wondered if she should interrupt the sisters' reunion to have one of her own with her daughter, but it was Elizabeth who turned to her first. "Mama!" she cried, extricating herself from Jane who then went to Aunt Mildred. "I am glad to be home!"

Mrs. Bennet smiled as she hugged Elizabeth. "I am glad to see you too, Lizzy, and recovered from … ahh … your poisoning accident." Lizzy giggled a bit at that, then suddenly realized that her mother – the very flappable Felicity Bennet – was being entirely too calm. She backed out a little in her arms. "Is everything alright, Mama?"

Felicity Bennet replied. "Of course. You are home, that is what is important." Then leaning closer to Lizzy, she whispered, "And with Mr. Darcy, too. Good work, Lizzy." And she gave a small giggle that was patently Mrs. Bennet, making her daughter blush scarlet as she re-introduced her mother to Colonel Fitzwilliam. "We owe you so much, Colonel, Mr. Darcy," she said to both men. This brought another round of negations, as Mr. Bennet also shook Colonel Fitzwilliam's hand in gratitude.

The gentlemen declined staying for a late luncheon, as proposed by Mrs. Bennet, but instead accepted an alternative invitation to supper the next day. Darcy was reluctant to part with Elizabeth without a private word, so he edged unobtrusively towards her. "Miss Elizabeth," he quietly said. "You owe me a discussion of Lord Byron's poetry in _Hours of Idleness_ …."

Elizabeth arched her eyebrows at that. "I remember no promises made, sir – in fact, if I did, it would probably be to Mr. Henson who gave me the volume by the pond."

"I know. But you knew it was from me," he whispered. "You looked up at me. You even knew which window."

Elizabeth looked up at him breathlessly. "I felt you."

"I know," Darcy said boldly. _This is it, _Darcy thought. _I must tell her how I feel. _Though he could only stand there and gaze at Miss Elizabeth, what he truly wanted to do was to take her hand and bestow a kiss. Many seconds passed with them just staring – then Darcy felt a sharp elbow dig into his back. Startled, both Darcy and Elizabeth looked up to see the others simply staring at them in bemusement.

"Th-The b-book is still at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy," stammered Elizabeth to cover her embarrassment.

"Ahh … yes … I will retrieve it," Mr. Darcy responded, equally embarrassed. Thus, quickly swallowing and clearing his throat, Darcy muttered a farewell and gave a hurried bow to everyone before boarding his carriage. With a repressed grin and a goodbye made more sedately and elegantly, Nicholas stepped into the equipage as well, and gave the signal to proceed. He pursed his lips and purposely averted his eyes from Darcy because he knew that if he lost control, he was going to give himself over to riotous, needling laughter at the expense of the Master of Pemberley with his secret life of daydreams.

"Shut up, Nicholas," muttered Darcy in a low voice, and was, indeed, met with an uncontainable guffaw and merciless teasing from his cousin.

* * *

Three hours later, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam sat in the sitting room of Darcy's bedchambers in Netherfield. "What are you going to do about Louisa Hurst, William?" Nicholas asked as he languidly stretched out on a settee.

Darcy sighed. "Beyond confronting her, you mean? I do not know. I suppose it depends on her reasons for doing it … and how she feels about her action now."His shoulders slumped. "I never saw this coming."

"I wonder if Bingley is aware of this mess."

"Bingley is Bingley," Darcy shrugged. "All the world is good and beautiful in his eyes, with an angel at every corner … but he will do what is right." Darcy actually wondered more about Dalton Hurst. Darcy did not know the man very well, but it always seemed to him that Hurst had quite a bit of untapped potential, and that the Hursts actually seemed content in their marriage… until this October when he joined their party in Netherfield.

As if reading his thoughts, Nicholas added, "I had the distinct feeling that Hurst wanted to get some sordid business out of the way earlier when he and Bingley welcomed us, sans Louisa Hurst. He was hindered only by Bingley's word to let us rest first, and Miss Bingley's rather effusive greeting when she tried to brush her - umm .. you know ... whatever it's called - against your arm." He laughed at Darcy's shudder, although the man was too much of a gentleman to say anything. "Does she often do that? Brush her ..." he cupped his two hands on his chest to signify his meaning.

"I will not discuss a woman's body parts with you, Nicholas," Darcy remarked dryly, making Nicholas laugh once more.

For his part, Charles Bingley had been all of wet putty since his friend had arrived. He was happy to have his friend back, but at the same time he dreaded the upcoming discussion. Charles, banking on Darcy's regard for him as a friend, prayed that the man would extend some measure of grace towards an erring sister. At the same time, Bingley felt that Darcy already knew _something_. It was in the way he looked at Dalton when they greeted the new arrivals earlier … and the way that his eyes had a hard glint when he inquired, "I hope your wife is in good health, Hurst?"

It was then that Hurst stammered a little. "Uhh … yes. Darcy, if you have a moment …"

But Bingley had intervened by saying, "Best that our travelers have some rest first, Hurst. Darcy, Fitzwilliam, supper at six, as usual. In the meantime, I will have baths drawn for you, and perhaps a quick repast in your rooms?" He bade Caroline to see to these instructions, and with an incensed glare, the woman, who had been hanging on to Darcy's arm and purring, stalked off to do as told.

Now, hours later, Bingley had determined to talk with Darcy first in the latter's bedchamber sitting room. He knew Hurst had planned to leave early the next day for London (borrowing Bingley's carriage), so that meant that Hurst _was _going to speak with Darcy _tonight. _Bingley thought he might head off any unpleasantness by being the one to broach the subject with his friend.

He made his way to Netherfield's guest wing – only to find en route that Hurst had the same idea. "Dalton," Bingley began gently, "do you not think it a better plan if I speak to Darcy first, and …"

"No," Dalton replied. "I thank you, Bingley, but it is I who must do this, not you. I know you are being a supportive friend and caring brother to Louisa, but I am her …" he looked down at his boots, unable to continue and say "_husband"._

Bingley looked at the man and not for the first time regretted not getting to know him more. With a compassionate smile, he laid a hand on Hurst's shoulder. "Well then, I suppose we go together, Dalton. No time like the present!"

To their chagrin, they found Caroline skulking around the corridor leading to the guest wing. She squeaked in alarm when her brother called her out. "Caroline!" he very nearly bellowed. "What are you doing near the gentlemen's _bedchambers?_"

"I was just … that is to say …" Caroline stammered, then regaining her hauteur, straightened up and said airily, "If you must know, I was going to inform Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam that canapés are being served in the drawing room. I had the most exquisite items ordered from Cook, which should be enjoyed at their freshest."

"Ah yes, and a footman would not suffice, eh?" Bingley said sarcastically. C_ripes, is everyone in this family angling for a scandal?_ Caroline ignored the barb and inquired what _they _were doing in that section of the house.

"None of your business," quipped Bingley.

"To talk to Darcy about your sister," said Hurst at the same time.

Caroline froze. "Talk to him … about … Louisa?" The two men kept quiet. "You know. You know, don't you? About the shooting?" she demanded. Met with their silence, Caroline hissed. "No, you cannot tell Mr. Darcy anything about that. It will destroy all chances I have!"

"You never had any, Caroline," stressed Bingley. "Not from the very start."

"That is not true! I …"

Dalton said quietly, "Not saying anything will destroy Louisa in the long run, Caroline. I cannot let that happen."

Caroline turned to him furiously and sneered, "What do you know? Marriage to you _has _destroyed her already! She would not say what happened, but I can guess it has to do with your stupid wine!"

"Caroline, enough! Just … go!" Bingley demanded. Stepping closer, he admonished, "You need to stop your daydreams, Caroline. Darcy cares little for you. He cringes every time you take his arm and rub yourself on him. It is most embarrassing, Caroline!"

Huffing, Caroline turned and fled. The gentlemen were quiet for a while, then finally, Bingley spoke as he shook his head, "We are a mess." He turned to look at Hurst who stood there with a bemused look on his face. "Dalton? Are you alright?"

"She did not tell her," Hurst said slowly. At Bingley's questioning glance, Hurst's smile grew even wider. "She did not tell her what caused our marriage to break down, Charles. I may be thinking too far ahead, or may be completely off the mark, but is it too much to hope that Louisa did not tell Caroline because she at least cared about my dignity?"

Bingley looked at the hopeful, yet also uncertain, man before him, and felt that he would like his hope to rise with his. But first, there was some business they should cover. "Well …" Bingley said slowly. "Then hold that thought of annulment for now, Hurst, and let us see what comes out of this business with Darcy. And then perhaps, some simple time away from each other would be the key. One at a time, my friend … one at a time." Hurst nodded with a smile.

They started to walk on – and they had not taken many steps when all throughout Netherfield, a gunshot rang out, shaking the very walls of the manor.

"LOUISA!" shouted a panicked Hurst, as he went running back down the corridor, Bingley in pursuit.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Darcy stood up straight. "A gunshot!" Even before he finished speaking, Nicholas Fitzwilliam, ever the soldier, had stood up and rushed out of the room to investigate. Darcy followed, but not before taking a quick glance at his ring which – to his huge relief – was a steady, fathomless black.

* * *

Elizabeth suddenly sat up on her bed, where she and her sister Jane had retired for a little relaxation after Elizabeth's journey. Elizabeth told Jane about Mr. Darcy, naturally, and got somewhat giddy with thoughts of him. She also related carefully what she could of her ordeal, glossing over the beating she got from Wickham (one, to protect Jane's sensibilities and two, to not have to explain her lack of bruises to her sister). Jane, on the other hand, happily reported that nobody in Meryton had picked up any connection between Elizabeth and Wickham.

"Jane, did you hear that?" Elizabeth asked abruptly, her heart starting to flutter with fear.

"Hear what, Lizzy?" Jane asked, puzzled.

_A gunshot! I heard a gunshot!_ Elizabeth thought with dread. Realizing, however, that it would not do to worry Jane, nor to tell her (at least for now) of her connection with Mr. Darcy, she hurriedly turned to her sister. "Nothing. I'm sorry, Jane, I suppose I am tired, after all. Do you mind letting me sleep for an hour or so before supper? I am feeling suddenly exhausted." Elizabeth even affected a slight yawn.

Immediately solicitous, Jane hopped out of bed. "Oh, not at all, Lizzy. Here, let me tuck you in and I will leave you, and come back for you when supper is ready." Elizabeth thanked her, and pretended to sleep – and once Jane left the room, she sprung out of bed and rifled through her borrowed, still unpacked valise for the obsidian mirror.

"Please show me Mr. Darcy," she whispered to the obsidian.

There was nothing. Elizabeth asked the mirror one more time, but still nothing came. Feeling uncertain, Elizabeth lay down on her bed, still clutching the mirror and thinking of the heard gunshot and what it can mean. She knew that the enchanted mirror would show her something if there was something important. Elizabeth sighed, and closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm. All too soon, she did fall asleep, and was taken to secret dreams of gentle blue eyes …

_… There you are, Mr. Darcy. I am glad you are well._


	18. OF RATS AND MEN

**Author's Note: It's time for Lizzy and Darcy now, yes? And then next time, we find out what happened at Netherfield. Won't be long.**

* * *

**Chapter 17**

Elizabeth was panting heavily when she blew into the vestibule of church and hurriedly closed the door to sag against it in relief. Trying to catch her breath, she hoped she was successful in trying to escape that blustering _little man!_

"Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth shrieked and met the questioning yet wary face of the rector. "Mr. Thiessen! Thank goodness!" she breathed, hand to her chest.

"I am glad to see you back home and well from your illness," the pastor said, briefly thinking back to Saturday morning when Mr. Bingley came to inform him of Miss Elizabeth's retrieval and to ask him to come on board with the cover story to protect Miss Elizabeth's reputation. "May I ask from whom you are running away?" _Mr. Darcy, I hope …_

"Him!" Elizabeth said rather exasperatedly, and pointed to someone in the square. Mr. Thiessen looked out, but Elizabeth pulled him back sharply and said, "Do not let him see you! He might want to come here!"

Puzzled, Mr. Thiessen peered again slowly, but saw no one except a parson, looking around as though lost. "That man is in the clergy as myself, Miss Elizabeth … why would you be afraid of him?"

"I am not afraid," she denied, "just suffocated! He is my cousin, visiting from his parish in Kent, and I think he sees me as … well … never mind _that_!"

"Ah!" Mr. Thiessen immediately understood. _Another of Miss Elizabeth's admirers_ _about to come to the fold, _he thought wryly. Suddenly the whole event seemed ridiculous to him, and he found himself thinking more kindly of his situation. With more objectivity, if that was the right word, Thiessen looked again through the window, and smiled, "Well, Miss Elizabeth, it seems that Miss Lucas has come to your rescue again. She is talking with your cousin now. Oh, they are coming! Quickly, use the back door. Go!"

With a grateful curtsey, Elizabeth ran. Mr. Thiessen watched her leave, and curiously, though he felt a part of his heart leave with her, he also had a sense of peace. _I wish her well_, he mused. Taking a deep breath, he opened the now-bolted door in response to pounding on the other side.

Even before he could state a greeting, the stranger was already bowing repeatedly. "Tis an honor to finally meet the esteemed pastor of this venerable town! I have heard many glowing reports about the superb kindness of your parish towards the less fortunate in this fair community - something that I myself try to do at the behest of my beloved patroness Lady …"

"Excuse me," Mr. Thiessen had no choice but to interrupt, "but who are you again?"

At this, Charlotte Lucas gave a start, as all her attention had been focused on trying not to laugh out loud. "Oh! Pardon me, Mr. Thiessen! I was distracted!" In a voice as even as possible, she introduced the gentlemen, and added, "Mr. Collins is a Bennet cousin here for a few days." Thiessen acknowledged this with a bow, but immediately, Mr. Collins spoke again in full force.

"Ah yes, would my fair cousin Elizabeth have come this way? Miss Lucas says she is deeply involved with the education of parish children, which is a noble undertaking …"

"Miss Elizabeth is not here, Mr. Collins," Thiessen felt compelled again to cut short the other man's rambling, and this time he could not keep exasperation from his voice. Suspiciously, he heard a snicker from Miss Lucas who kept her head down. "Miss Lucas," he called, and when the lady looked up, her mischievous eyes indeed twinkled with merriment she could hardly suppress. Mr. Thiessen felt cheered as well. _She knows her friend passed this way._ That shared secret, harmless as it was, caused a chuckle to bubble from within, which he tried not to show. "Miss Lucas," he began, "perhaps you would like to show Mr. Collins the sculptures in the _front _garden, and tell him some of our town's history. I will be with you shortly, after I bolt the _back_ door."

Grinning, Charlotte understood. "The front garden it is. Come, Mr. Collins – I daresay you would enjoy the town _secrets_ …" As they turned, Charlotte looked back at Mr. Thiessen, again with laughing eyes, causing the rector to laugh back softly.

_ Miss Lucas has beautiful eyes when she laughs_, he said to himself as he went to secure the back door.

* * *

Elizabeth ran to be as far away from that dreadful man as possible. This Mr. Collins was beyond the pale. Last night after supper, everyone stayed in the parlor as they were wont. Mr. Collins boldly approached the Master and Mistress, uncannily reminding all of a rat sniffing out cheese in the kitchen. He made clear his plan to choose a wife. "Indeed, I said to myself, who better than among my cousins? I am, after all, heir of this estate and this desirable union can ensure a home for them in the eventual … ahh, you know ..."

"Oh, pray tell, Mr. Collins – I do not know," said Mr. Bennet laconically. "Are you referring to the demise of the current master?"

"It is heartening that you can speak of it so plainly, sir. I see you are not afraid of dying …"

"Take heart, my good fellow, you may precede me yet," Mr. Bennet remarked with sarcasm, but Mr. Collins looked quite puzzled.

"Dear Mr. Bennet, while I wish for you long life, it is in fact most apparent that your foot is truly not far from the gra …"

Elizabeth lost the conversation after that, as she had been so furious with the man who had the gall to speak of her father dying! Her sweet Papa! Angry tears filled Elizabeth's eyes as she continued running, not realizing that she was back on the trail to home. Still she ran, oblivious to everything except her need to escape, until …

Someone grabbed her by the elbow. Suddenly, in Elizabeth's mind, she was back in that instance when a burlap cloth was thrown over her head and she was struck on the head. Elizabeth now screamed and struggled against her assailant, hitting and kicking for her life. Her captor spoke, but she could not understand anything, so she continued to struggle wildly. Suddenly she was held strong and fast against a broad chest, and with strong arms around her body.

_"Elizabeth. Please."_

She stopped. The haze slowly lifted from her brain. Calm began to flow, although she could not contain her trembling. _I know that voice …_

"William?" she whispered in a fragile voice, her face against his shirt.

Soothingly, he spoke. "Yes, Elizabeth, it is _William."_

How long they stood there, nobody knew – their bodies one silhouette against the swirling autumn leaves, their heartbeats joined with the cadence of the wind. Elizabeth's arms had gone around Darcy's torso as she rested her head against his chest, her trembling beginning to subside – and Darcy put his cheek on top of her head, arms tightening around her a little bit more. _My Elizabeth, _he said in his heart.

Finally, Elizabeth whispered without looking up, "I was so afraid …"

"I should not have grabbed you. Forgive me." Elizabeth felt his hand caressing her hair. "I called to you many times, but you were intent on running. You looked so troubled, and I hated the thought of … _I hated the thought of you being hurt._" He murmured those last words as he buried his face in her hair. _"I cannot bear it."_

They were silent a few moments more, then Darcy straightened up, conscious of the precarious situation they were in. However, he could not fully let go … not just yet. Elizabeth had lifted her head from Darcy's chest to look up at him, and he cupped one cheek while this thumb caressed her skin. "Would you tell me what has troubled you so? And … one day, when you are ready, would you talk to me about your experience with … with Wickham?" He was loathed to say the name, but he wanted that name to begin to have no effect on either of them.

Elizabeth vehemently shook her head at that, refusing to let memories surface, but Darcy took hold of her hand and held fast. "Sordid as it may have been, I know that talking about the experience lessens its power over your soul."

Elizabeth spoke in a hushed voice. "I only want to remember being found …."

"I would never have stopped looking."

"I know the Obsidian would not have let you …"

"No," Darcy countered. "Because my heart would have refused."

"Mr. Darcy …"

"You called me William earlier."

Elizabeth paused, looking intently into the eyes of the man before her. Then she said quietly, "You have been calling me Elizabeth since you found me."

Darcy tilted his head. "You remember." Elizabeth nodded. Curious, Darcy asked, "Do you remember anything else?" It was a while before he received an answer.

"That your eyes were the first I saw when I opened mine … and that I was awakened by a kiss." Slowly, she turned to sit on a fallen log, facing away from him.

Neither of them moved, nor spoke for seconds on end. Finally, Darcy whispered. "I took that privilege without asking. I apolo …."

"No." Elizabeth shook her head, quickly glancing over her shoulder and back at her hands with which she was nervously tearing a leaf apart. "It was by no means unwelcome."

Darcy felt great joy flow through him. It was as though he could fly, if not with wings then with his soaring heart. _I love her. _He happened to look at his obsidian ring, and found it rivaling the brightness of the day. Darcy laughed to himself. _Of course! The Obsidian has pointed the way … all that was needed were my feet and heart to follow._

Resolutely walking to where Elizabeth sat, Darcy crouched in front of her and softly laid his hand on her cheek once more. "Miss Elizabeth ..." he saw her eyebrows lift in amusement, and he chuckled to begin again. "Elizabeth … I feel knit to you already by circumstance, as you know. The Obsidian has made its choice long before, and it simply waited for me to catch up. We are good friends, I know this … but would you be of the same mind that we could be more?"

Elizabeth's gentle look spurred him, more so her subtle leaning into his palm. "I want to make this right for you," he continued. "I want to speak to your father – first about a courtship, but know this: I know fully what I want, and I assure you it will not be long before I come to him and to you with another question. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would you do me the honor of accepting my suit?"

Elizabeth's lips quavered into a smile, and with misty eyes locked on to his. "I would … I do," she whispered, and added, "_Fitzwilliam Darcy."_

"Good," he whispered back. He got up, gently pulling her with him, and enveloped her in a crushing hug – which was finished before she could even relish it.

"Come," he called. "I need to speak with Mr. Bennet now."

"This early? Why?"

"So I can kiss you properly, of course," he said smugly, whistling for Gillebride who had put out to pasture.

She snorted. "Never stopped you before."

Darcy pulled her close and put his lips on her forehead. "That, my lady, was not yet a kiss," he breathed, "and I cannot wait for you to find out."

Elizabeth looked up at him with a shy and tearful smile. "Neither can I," she said.

* * *

They walked to Longbourn slowly, Elizabeth explaining to Darcy what had troubled her earlier, feeling all the righteous anguish bubbling again. "He had the temerity, too, to speak of my father's death as plainly as he would talk about tomorrow's weather! I could hardly keep from dumping my coffee on him, as it were," she said, causing Darcy to chuckle.

"It is rather suspicious that he would show up after many years with little warning. Is it simply to inspect his future property and see for himself _when_ he could possibly take over?" asked Darcy. Receiving no reply, Darcy peeked at Elizabeth to find her blushing. "Elizabeth?"

"He claims to be in want of a wife," she answered.

"Ah. And he intends to select one from the Bennet sisters," he rejoined with a grin, then suddenly stopped walking to face Elizabeth squarely with an epiphany. "He selected _you!"_

"Well …" Elizabeth began sheepishly, "he did say that we would never get a better offer."

_That idiot! _Darcy fumed. _I_ _am going to twist his scrawny little neck. _Noticing Elizabeth giggling, he narrowed his eyes. "I think you are enjoying my jealousy far too much, Elizabeth."

"That is exactly why I laugh, William. If you had met him, you would know that there is absolutely no cause for jealousy … but plenty of space for annoyance." She giggled again at Darcy's huff, and playfully looped her arm through his. "You should have heard what my mother told him. She said," – and here, Elizabeth copied her mother's high-pitched tone – "_'Mr. Collins, I believe we found rats in your bedchamber. Would you prefer to stay inside the room while we fumigate? Things work better that way, I believe.' _ And in her irritation, she cut his week-long visit to four days."

"Good," Darcy quipped, as they shared a hearty chuckle over Mr. Collins. After a while, Darcy inquired, "Where does Mr. Collins come from, Elizabeth? You said he is a parson at a parish somewhere …"

"Yes, from Kent. He is most proud of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who can do no wrong in his eyes, and whose daughter has all the bearing of a duchess, he claims," Elizabeth sighed. "I believe she is engaged to a cousin, a wealthy man with a proud and noble lineage, to quote."

Again, Darcy froze in his tracks. This time there was no chuckle, no laughter – only an eerie pallor upon his face. Before Elizabeth could ask him what was the matter, William spoke in a voice hoarse with emotion.

"Elizabeth, I am that man."


	19. FADING SHADOWS

**AN: Wow, those were a lot of tomatoes pelleted at me last time for the cliffhanger. I picked them all up and put them in stew. Here, have a serving. You won't be sorry. :) Note that all scenes here are taking place concurrently.**

* * *

**Chapter 18**

Dalton Hurst woke up to the sun streaming through the curtains, and immediately felt for someone beside him in bed. His hands came up empty. _I should not have gotten my hopes up, _he sighed. _Tis over before it even started._ He groaned.

"Dalton?"

With a jolt, Dalton sat up and looked around him, then peered over to the side of the bed. To his delight – and puzzlement – he found Louisa on the floor, her legs pulled up to her chin, and wearing her nightshift under her dressing gown. Breath caught in Dalton's throat. _She is here__. _It was a simple thing, but to Dalton, it meant the world – he was able to hold his wife in his arms all night as she expended her tears in grieving for their lost child.

He slid down the bed to sit beside Louisa. "What are you doing down here?" he whispered. He purposely kept a little distance, thinking that last night's intimacy, innocent as it was, was enough – or too much too soon – for his wife. Dalton kept re-playing the events of yesterday afternoon …

_He and Bingley rushed back to the family wing of Netherfield and saw a cluster of servants in Louisa's bedchamber. This scared Dalton even more, and he pushed through the throng. Louisa was sitting on an arm chair, staring ahead blankly, her hand being tended to by Netherfield's housekeeper Mrs. Nichols. She also had blood on her clothes and skin, and the whole room was a mess, with clothes strewn all around, and shoes and jewelry scattered._

_Bingley quickly dispersed the servants except Mrs. Nichols as Dalton knelt in front of Louisa and took her uninjured hand. "Louisa? What happened?" There was no response as she continued to stare unseeingly. "Mrs. Nichols, what can you tell me?"_

_"I am not sure, sir," replied the housekeeper. "We heard a shot, and I rushed here from the linen room, and the missus was standing in the middle of the room with the gun on the floor. She has not said a word, Mr. Hurst."_

_"Oh, Louisa," Dalton muttered, rubbing Louisa's good hand which was as cold as ice._

_It was then that Colonel Fitzwilliam came into the room, and quickly assessing no danger, looked over at the Hursts coldly. "What now, Hurst?" he demanded. "Did she use her gun again? Who is it this time?"_

_"Dammit, Fitzwilliam!" Dalton stood up suddenly and crossed the room to grab the soldier by the collar. "You are not to speak of her that way!"_

_"She tried to kill Darcy!" Nicholas deftly unclasped the other man's hold, and grabbed him in return. Darcy had come in by then, his face inscrutable but his eyes watchful and questioning._

_"She did no such thing!" Dalton shouted back, then looked at Darcy. "I did."_

"I was just thinking," Louisa said now as she and Dalton sat on the floor. She sighed and put her cheek against her knees as she gazed up at her husband. "You tried to take blame for me." Dalton simply shrugged. Louisa continued. "Darcy saw right through you." She adjusted her position so that she sat closer to Dalton, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Very gently, Dalton took Louisa's injured hand – the middle finger and the pointer had been hit by the bullet, and while they were not sure about the health of the pointer, the middle finger was just grazed and hopefully recuperating well under the bandages. He was thankful for Dr. Rush, Mrs. Nichols' father, who came to their aid again. "Are you in much pain right now?" he asked.

"Nothing I cannot handle," she replied, looking at her fingers as well. "I really was putting it away, you know … I mean the gun. It went off and shocked me badly. I was in a panic to get all my packing done so I could go with you when you left."

"I would not have gone without saying goodbye, Louisa."

"I would rather have you not say goodbye at all." Her eyes filled with tears. "I put you through so much, Dalton. How can you ever love me?"

"How can I not? You are my life, Louisa," Dalton said hoarsely, his eyes unashamedly pooling. "I loved our little one, I did … but you, you are the one who makes the sun come up for me. And yet I fail you again and again … I am half a man, Louisa, and I do not know how I can ever make you happy."

"No, no … Dalton, no. I was wrong. I was horribly, horribly wrong. I was desperate to have my arms filled with curls and bows and such things of a babe, I had forgotten that I already have my heart full … of you. And that is what is important, that the heart is full. If we are ever blessed with a babe again, my heart will grow to make room. But right now, my heart is blessed – and the absence of a little one does not make it any less so."

"What if I am never able to give you a child, Louisa? Will you … still … love me?"

Louisa's heart wrenched even more at that childlike quality of Dalton's voice. _My dear husband, I have wronged you on so many levels! _ "Forever, Dalton … I will love you forever."

And Dalton with a cry grabbed her in his arms and held on to her as though for dear life.

"I love you, Louisa," Dalton whispered. "We will try again. Soon."

* * *

Bingley was dawdling in the breakfast room thinking of all the events of yesterday. He was glad that the latest gun-shooting incident was an accident, and that no one was hurt in a life-threatening way. His heart went out to Louisa – but at the same time, he felt his regard for his brother-in-law climb new heights. He remembered all …

_"She tried to kill Darcy!" snarled Nicholas Fitzwilliam, his soldier-arms effectively gunning for Dalton's throat in fury._

_"She did nothing of the kind!" Dalton responded angrily, then looked at Darcy sharply. "I did." A gasp came from Louisa, who stared at Dalton in shock. Darcy took one look at her, then back at Dalton, and after long seconds of silence, he spoke quietly, but gravely and masterfully._

_"I know it was Mrs. Hurst. Do not lie to me. I want to know why."_

_Dalton's breath began coming in short pants. Fitzwilliam's hold had slackened, although he kept himself on guard, stepping away for a better panorama of the players in the room. From where she sat, Louisa Hurst began trembling violently, as tears poured from her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she kept sobbing. Dalton went to her in anguish, kneeling before her again. He smoothed the hair out of her face and wiped away little splatters of blood. Mrs. Nichols had finished bandaging the wound, and before slipping out of the room, quietly told Mr. Bingley that she would send for her father the retired surgeon for proper care. _

_"Louisa, dear Louisa," Dalton whispered, "why would you do this?"_

_In tear-wrought voice, Louisa answered, "This was an accident, Dalton … I swear it. I was packing my things, and the gun went off. You were leaving … me … and I could not let … could not let you go …." She lifted her eyes to Darcy and stammered, "Mr. Darcy … please, I wasn't … I wasn't thinking …"_

_Dalton shushed her gently, then planting a tender kiss on her forehead, said, "I will talk to him, Louisa." Straightening up, he turned to the other gentlemen in the room, particularly to Darcy and said, "Perhaps we can speak privately ... your study, Bingley? Caroline, stay here with your sister." Caroline, who had been lurking by the doorway, looked ready to protest, but a look from Bingley stopped her._

_The talk amongst the gentlemen was quite rewarding, even if the subject matter on hand was sad and distasteful. Dalton bared his story – exactly as he had earlier related it to Charles – and in the end turned to Darcy and said, "There you have it, Darcy. Yes, Louisa fired the gun that caused your accident with your horse, and yes, she had a terrible reason for it, even malicious, but no, she truly was not herself. We leave it to you to pronounce restitution – but I ask that please," his voice began to break, "remit that punishment to me, instead of Louisa. She cannot take more heartache than she already has." He looked away as tears slowly made trails down his face. Silence filled the room for a long time. Finally, Darcy stood up and walked to Dalton who visibly stiffened for a while. Laying a hand on the man's shoulder, he quietly said, "Be at peace, man. You and your wife have suffered greatly. I will not add to it." And with a pat, he left the room, followed by the colonel who laid a comforting hand on him, as did Bingley. As the three men closed the door to the study, they could hear wracking sobs from inside, and could only pray that it was all for catharsis._

Bingley sighed now as he sat before his breakfast. _My family is in dire straits_, he thought. _I__s it even right that I think of courtship at this time? _And yet, the very thought of letting go of Jane Bennet – the one bright spot in his life– was abhorrent to him. He knew that they both were taking it slow, but Charles acknowledged that he was in a fair way to truly being in love with Jane – not in the way of silly infatuations in the past (he acknowledged that too). He genuinely desired to do what was right, honorable _and best _for the other person._ For Jane …_

Bingley's mood dropped when Caroline breezed into the breakfast room, her demeanor subtly deflating upon seeing only her brother there. "Where is Mr. Darcy?" she demanded. "Surely he would want to spend time with us now after that long imposition by Eliza Bennet upon his time last week."

Charles looked at her irritably – _selfish brat, _he thought – and said coolly, "As a matter of fact, he went out to see Miss Elizabeth early this morning. He did not say so, but judging from how cheerfully he was whistling, then I could guess."

Caroline threw her hands in exasperation. "Why?" she gritted. "She is well now, is she not? Why would he want to spend time with an ignorant country chit?"

"Because he is in love with her," Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room and straightaway grabbed an apple from the sideboard and faced the woman squarely. "Nobody else stands a chance." Then, stepping towards Caroline, he leaned his face so close to hers that she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he nonchalantly bit from his apple, his eyes never leaving Caroline's face, then straightening up, he winked and strode out of the room.

Caroline was humiliated.

Hiding a grin behind his napkin, Bingley wiped his lips and stood, sighing theatrically for Caroline's benefit. "There is just something about those lovely Bennet ladies, is there not?" He followed Nicholas out, his mood immeasurably lifted.

A loud crash was heard from the breakfast room, followed by a woman's angry bellow, "Mrs. Nichols! Get in here immediately!" And then another crash.

Bingley groaned. _We should not have brought out the expensive china,_ he thought.

* * *

Elizabeth's heart stopped within her. "Wha … _you are engaged? _But how … why …? Her whole world had just caved in …

Darcy gaped at her. "What? Engaged? Hell, no!" Immediately he turned red at his indelicate outburst. "I did not mean that I was engaged to my cousin – I meant that I _am _the cousin that my aunt, _that _Lady Catherine de Bourgh, always insists is formed for her daughter, my cousin Anne. But Elizabeth, there is no betrothal – Anne does not wish it, and I most certainly am NOT inclined to it. Elizabeth, please …" Elizabeth had covered her mouth with her hands and turned away from him. "Elizabeth …" Darcy put out a hand to touch her, but she inched away from him, trying to think.

Darcy stood there helplessly for a few seconds. Fisting his hands in agitation, he felt the obsidian ring against the skin of his finger. Glancing at its myriad colors, Darcy felt his resoluteness re-emerge._ I am not going to let this be the start of our relationship. _Taking a deep breath, he said, "My Aunt Catherine who is my mother's sister always claims that our betrothal, Anne's and mine, is from infancy, right from our cradles. I never heard anything from my parents about it, Elizabeth, so I _can _confidently say that those thoughts are only from my aunt's desires … not mine. Ask Nicholas about this – he will confirm it. My mother always said that my heart will know its mate; I need not bend to the dictates of others except my own. My heart has spoken, Elizabeth, and has found _you."_

He went around to face her, and while she refused to look at him, he took her hand and continued. "There is only YOU, Elizabeth … no one can ever own me as you do. There is only you."

Elizabeth finally let her eyes meet his. "You swear this to me?" she whispered.

"Upon my heart." They stood gazing at each other: Elizabeth spearing into his soul to find the truth, and Darcy willing her to find it. Her eyes were deep and mysterious, and Darcy felt he could willingly spend all his days lost in the softness of her look. Her lips were still quivering with leftover uncertainty that Darcy wanted nothing more than to dispel. _She is so very, very beautiful …_

"Elizabeth?" he called softly. "May I … kiss you?"

There came a hint of a smile, and for Darcy the shadows faded. "You have not spoken to my father yet ," she said.

He snorted. "Never stopped me before." And his lips came down to claim hers, as all vestiges of fear fled from Elizabeth Bennet's soul.


	20. FACE OFF

**AN: Sasikirana, you are probably right ... so knit blanket it is! :) Thanks!**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Darcy _did_ see Mr. Bennet that morning, with the former receiving the patriarch's blessing for a courtship. Darcy and Lizzy also took advantage of the same closed-door meeting to acquaint the Longbourn parents of a fuller story of Elizabeth's experience, with Aunt Mildred joining them for support. As agreed earlier, they kept to a gist: Elizabeth was taken by a couple who had a grudge against Mr. Darcy and planned to hold her for ransom, having observed a strong connection between the two young people. But Elizabeth choked badly on transit and probably stopped breathing for a while, that the perpetrators thought her to have died, and dumped her down a hill after they shot the hired coachman to erase all witnesses. Serendipitously, Mr. Darcy stopped somewhere for a brief rest, where he caught sight of Elizabeth's pelisse – and the rest, easy enough to say, was history. The coachman was saved, and Elizabeth was safe, and the kidnapper, not realizing that Darcy had retrieved the young lady, still tried to extort money from him, but has since been arrested. Details of the Obsidian remained between Darcy and Elizabeth. Wickham's name was not mentioned.

During the narration, Elizabeth, who gave Darcy leave to tell most of it, had started trembling again, her feet bouncing nervously as she sat. The trauma of the experience was too fresh. On instinct, Darcy stood up in the midst of his re-telling and picked up a knit blanket from a nearby settee to wrap Elizabeth snugly in it – all without even breaking his narration – and rubbed her upper arms absently as he spoke. Elizabeth in turn lifted a tremulous smile to him, and held his hand briefly. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet arched their eyebrows at the each other at the exchange, while Aunt Mildred found it quite amusing. Thereupon, their minds rapidly formed a wide spectrum of thoughts …

Mr. Bennet huffed. _Courtship, my foot!_ _You two have some explaining to do. _

Mrs. Bennet marveled. _Oh, Lizzy … ten thousand a year and very likely more! I shall go distracted! _

Aunt Mildred smiled. _Already, they are at ease with each other, and it is comforting to see. _

At the end of the recitation, although Mr. Bennet was feeling testy at the prospect of losing his daughter so soon to another man, the fact remained: Mr. Darcy had brought home his Lizzy, safe and sound. For that alone, Mr. Bennet would overlook much. Thus, gratitude was once more expressed and avowals of support for the courtship re-iterated, even as the master of Longbourn said soberly, "I would like a moment alone with Lizzy, please. Mr. Darcy, we will see you and your party this evening for supper, yes?" This was acknowledged as so, and with a handshake, the Pemberley master was dismissed, and he left with a wink and a smile for Elizabeth.

No sooner had he stepped out of the study when he was accosted by a little man who seemed bent on kissing his boots. "I have found out," said this man, "by a singular accident, that there is now in _our humble abode_ a near relation of my patroness. I have been thus informed by our housekeeper of the fortuitous presence of one so closely connected to the esteemed name of the de Bourghs. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with …"

"Pardon me!" the Master of Pemberley fairly roared to stem the outpouring of ridiculous words, and turned to Mrs. Bennet with a much softened voice, "Mrs. Bennet, who is this?" Of course, he already knew, but he was not going to give the creature that satisfaction.

"This, Mr. Darcy, is …" Mrs. Bennet began, but again the newcomer interrupted, his head bowing so fast that Darcy could not help but hope that his head would just roll off.

"Reverend William Collins, Mr. Darcy, who serves with utmost respect the wonderful parish bestowed upon me by the Lord through the beneficence of your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. You would be happy to know that she and your dearest cousin were in perfect health when I left them yesterday, and they would be thrilled to know that you have been on hand on congratulate me also on … well, I would have to confirm the announcement with my cousin Bennet, of course, but …

"Mr. Collins," came a hard voice as Darcy glared. "Do you always speak so tediously? But it is of no consequence. Inasmuch as you are here, then be among the first to know – I have entered into a courtship with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, with full consent of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. You may congratulate me now." At this Mr. Collins paled.

"C-Courting M-Miss Eliz-Elizabeth? No! She is supposed … supposed to be …" the man said, flabbergasted.

Darcy took one step towards him, speaking softly though his eyes squinted dangerously. "Supposed to be what, Mr. Collins?"

The parson stepped back, face sweating profusely as he beheld the intimidating glare of the much taller, bigger man. "M-Mine," she stammered. "Elizabeth is to be mine."

"I would thank you not to be so presumptuous, Collins," Darcy spoke softly. "Did Miss Elizabeth agree to any proposition? Did her parents?" From the periphery, Darcy noted Mrs. Bennet shake her head emphatically.

"No …" Collins protested feebly, "but I would be a most eligible prospect for their family situation …"

"And I would not be an eligible prospect, Collins? What situation do you allude to? The entailment, perhaps? That can very well change, sir. I have enough resources to buy out your entailment, in a manner profitable to both the Bennets and yourself, should you choose it … or if you choose to create an untenable position for the Bennets, know that I also have the means to retaliate in kind."

Save for the two times that he called out Collins for attention, Mr. Darcy never raised his voice but spoke in such a tone that very much painted him to be a master of destiny. The two ladies looked on with fascination, seeing right before their eyes the transformation of a gentle young man into a forceful Lord of the Manor. For his part, Collins visibly swallowed, then tried his best to regain his fighting stance, "What about … Miss de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy? You are … you are … engaged to her!"

There was a gasp – two, in fact – from the women in the hallway. Darcy glanced at them calmly, and nodded reassuringly. Then he faced Collins again and glowered, "Is my aunt still spewing that fantasy of hers? My cousin Anne and I have never been engaged, and neither of us wish to be. Have you ever seen her wear a ring, Collins? Or read an announcement in the broadsheets? No? Huh. If we were truly bethrothed, Lady Catherine would be doing all she could to announce it as ostentatiously as possible. The engagement, if you please, which she would always claim was made at our cradles, was nothing but wishful thinking on her part, to which my mother never agreed, and I myself never shall."

"But … but …"

"No 'buts', Mr. Collins. If I _EVER _hear you speak of that non-existent engagement to anybody and you slander my good name, I can assure you that your career in the church is over – even before you finish the Lord's Prayer." Mr. Darcy towered over him again and spoke, again his voice very low and dangerous, "And if I learn of any attempt to besmirch Miss Elizabeth, or any of the Bennets - well, let us just say that the colonies are not far enough for you to hide. Now … perhaps you may choose to busy yourself with something, until your hostess, the mistress of this house, tells you that luncheon is served, hmm?"

Collins scurried away quickly. Darcy watched him go, conscious that he may have given the ladies cause for consternation, both with his rather high-handed treatment of Collins (he was a guest of Longbourn, after all) and his erstwhile engagement. He took a deep breath, then turned to face them … only to be met with clapping from the door of the study. It was Mr. Bennet.

"Well done! Well done, young man! I am not as imposing as you, I'm afraid, and my brand of sarcasm has somehow not hit the mark with the dense character. Thank you. Now … " here Mr. Bennet stepped closer to Mr. Darcy, imposing in his own right, despite his negation, "let me clarify something with you, and you had better tell me the whole truth. This engagement with your cousin … it is not true?"

Darcy looked at Mr. Bennet squarely and replied, "Mr. Bennet, I swear to you by all that is holy, in front of witnesses, that there is no betrothal, past, present or future, to Anne de Bourgh of Kent. I have my cousin, Colonel Nicholas Fitzwilliam of His Majesty's army, a man of integrity, to vouch for this as well." Then with a glance at Elizabeth who stood behind her father, he declared, "There is only one lady who holds my heart, sir, and she carries your name." _For now, _he added in his mind.

Mr. Bennet was silent for a moment, determining the truth in the other man - then stole a glance at Elizabeth who was gazing at Darcy with her own soul in her eyes. _She trusts him, _he saw. If anything, that was what sealed the deal for him. _They know each other well … this bodes well for a happy union._

"Very well," Mr. Bennet said, then reached out his hand to clasp Mr. Darcy's, "I accept this – I accept you. Anyone who could handle that windbag the way that you did, sir, scores points with me." He sighed. "And Mr. Darcy, one day soon, I will speak with you about a matter of great importance about Longbourn. But now I shall go back to my bookroom. It has been quite a morning." And with a bow to everyone, he walked back to his study, winked at his very bemused wife, and closed the door.

* * *

William Collins entered his bedchamber and quickly bolted it, his heart still hammering in his chest because of anger, humiliation and – yes – fear. Mr. Darcy, after all, was an intimidating man, and the fact that his power, influence and intelligence were so readily apparent made him truly dangerous to cross. But Collins was not a sensible man, and such deficiency was little aided by education or society. He _did _belong to one of the universities, but while there, he only kept the necessary terms, neither distinguishing himself academically nor forming desirable friendships or at least some useful acquaintance. In fact, it was only by some accident of circumstance, either unknown to him or ignored in his relief to simply score a post, that led him to this position in the parish of Hunsford in Kent – the patroness of the parish demanded a replacement of the previous one who had a nasty habit of disagreeing with her far too much.

And so it was that Mr. Collins stood here seething, thinking that Mr. Darcy had just invaded _HIS _home and had glibly taken what was rightfully his. At the same time, Mr. Darcy had just committed the unpardonable sin of disavowing the words of his dearly-loved Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and for that – _for that_ – Mr. Collins would never forgive him. He would find a way to _avenge_ his honor and that of Lady de Bourgh's …

Laughter and conversation wafted through the windows from the portico below. Collins moved closer to obtain a better view, and saw Mr. Darcy standing with Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner, while by the drive, a stable boy held the reins for Mr. Darcy's mount. They were exchanging farewells, with Collins overhearing phrases which revealed that the man had been invited back to supper tonight. Collins snorted, and was aghast when he saw the man stiffen and look up at his window, compelling him to step away before he was seen.

After a while, he carefully glanced out again, and Mr. Darcy was already holding his horse's rein. Elizabeth stood near him, with the other two ladies hanging back a little to allow them privacy. Collins saw Mr. Darcy bend down toward Elizabeth, and was scandalized beyond all reason as he believed that the gentleman was going to kiss his cousin. _How brazen_, he seethed. _Absolutely wanton! Would that I could give them a piece of my mind!_

Little did he know that he, indeed, was the topic of Mr. Darcy's whispered words to Elizabeth. "I know he is watching, Elizabeth … no, no, do not look up – but I need to tell you to be cautious. Make sure your bedchamber door is locked at night, and tell your other sisters the same thing. I may be over-thinking things, I know … but it never hurts to be careful."

Elizabeth nodded, as she herself had the strangest sensation of being watched. "You have thoroughly upended his world," she teased. Darcy's reply was solemn.

"I care not, as I would not have him upend mine. As it is, however, he made me realize one thing: I need to settle once and for all my aunt's notion of me and her daughter Anne, and soon. I will not have anyone hurt you with innuendo, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth smiled at him gently, at the same time that a frisson of fear passed through her. _If anything comes out of this courtship, his relatives might not be so accepting of me ..._

As if guessing her thoughts, Darcy said to her softly, "Elizabeth … my relations have no power or authority over me whatsoever. I know my heart and mind, and I will not be swayed." And very briefly, as the chaperons were watching, Darcy brought his hand up to her cheek, his touch communicating only a fraction of what he truly wanted to say. As earlier, Elizabeth leaned into his touch.

From the upstairs window, Collins fumed even more as he witnessed the tender exchange. _I will put a stop to this foolishness! _Determination filling his heart, he straightened up. He had some planning to do ... _and I swear, they would hardly know what hit them._


	21. PEACE

**AN: A little wrapping up of some loose ends here, folks, before we hie off to the next trouble. :) ****Not too long now before see our story done. You all have been awesome.**

* * *

**Chapter 20**

The next few days passed quietly for Longbourn and Netherfield (to some extent), as though making up for the chaos of last week. There were undercurrents of tension, to be sure, especially when Mr. Collins was present – but the man was inordinately cheerful in a suspicious sort of way, so Elizabeth and her sisters (warned by Elizabeth to be cautious around him) were always on their toes – at least until Friday, when he was scheduled to leave.

Charles Bingley was quick to follow Darcy's example of applying to Mr. Bennet for courtship with the eldest Bennet daughter. It was something that he truly had to think hard on prior to that Tuesday evening when he spoke with the Longbourn patriarch – Charles had to look deep into himself to assure he was ready for this. He knew that Miss Bennet was not one of those females he had in the past with whom he always flirted and caused hopes to rise, and in the end, be disappointed. It hardly bothered him to be so casual. Not so with Jane Bennet. Bingley knew he would rather hurt himself than let that lady suffer even a little. Miss Bennet – _his Jane_ - was a treasure, her heart was to be nurtured and cherished forever.

Charles knew he had changed – because of her and for her. And he was going to make sure she knew it.

Dalton and Louisa Hurst left for London on Wednesday morning – but not before Louisa had a chance to speak with Darcy privately, with Dalton a silent presence in the room. The Master of Pemberley was unexpectedly tender: at the end of their discourse he took Louisa's hand and held it for a while as he gazed kindly. Then he said, "Please do not lose hope. My mother lost two babes before me – but she always said that the love that she had for those children was never wasted. Rather, it prepared her heart even more for the child who was to come. I forgive you, Louisa Hurst. I pray you will find the happy life you deserve." He turned to Dalton, and shook his hand. "I hope you will keep in touch." And thus, they parted.

Caroline's presence with them in their new life was vehemently refused by Dalton. "Louisa and I need this time, Charles. Alone. We shall be in Brighton for a spot of rest, and then we go to Norfolk to begin our estate education together_. _Caroline is disruptive, and I will not have it."

And so Charles was saddled with Caroline. However, having learned his lesson in exercising firmness with recalcitrant siblings, Bingley made Caroline sit down in the drawing room that Wednesday. With no preamble, he said, "One, Darcy does not love you, Caroline, and two, he never will, because he has Miss Elizabeth. Three, if you do anything embarrassing to Darcy or hurtful to Miss Elizabeth, I will release your dowry to your care and you can find your own establishment. I mean that. Four, and this is most important to me, I am courting Jane Bennet. I am certain that she is the woman I want to marry, and you have no choice in this matter. If I find you treating her and her family with anything less than the utmost respect, then that stipulation about releasing your dowry to your control and letting you live your life will stand. That is all."

With that he left the room, and sighed again when he heard objects being thrown about and broken, as angry yells reverberated throughout the house.

* * *

It was also on Wednesday morning, after Darcy and Bingley left to call on Longbourn, when Colonel Nicholas Fitzwilliam received his orders, routed to him from the London office through the militia regiment in Meryton. He was to go to back in two weeks' time to Portugal and Spain to join Wellesley, Viscount Wellington's, army in the Peninsular War campaign. In the meantime, he was to keep working and connecting with the militia in Meryton, as he had been these past few days, to scope possible recruits into the regulars.

_Two weeks. _Nicholas sighed, shifting on the sofa in the library with a book in hand. He had hoped to spend Christmas, still a little more than a month away, with Darcy and Georgiana, and of course his own family at Matlock. He was tired of war – he had seen too much of it since his enlistment as a humble ensign at just under twenty years of age a decade ago, beginning almost right off as a young British soldier in India. Promotions were quick for the brave and intelligent Nicholas Fitzwilliam – he earned his rank largely through valor and cunning, not through money-exchange which was common in the military. Nicholas also saw action in the campaigns of the third to the fifth coalitions against Napoleon, where in the bloody battle of Albuera in Spain just this past May, he was wounded badly and sent home to English soil to recuperate. This was when he seriously thought about retiring. Nicholas snorted. _If only that damned power-mongering Corsican would stop thinking of the world as his family's footstool, I could rest, _he thought snidely.

Nicholas had some savings put away from his salary and some prize money, plus a small inheritance from his grandmother and a bigger one from George Darcy, but he wondered if this would be enough for him to live on, along with his army pension. He certainly would like to find a wife someday … he just had not someone drop onto his lap, as it were_. Unlike Darcy_. He chuckled affectionately at the thought.

It was upon this fond reminiscing that Darcy's valet Henson came upon him. "Colonel," he called. "I am glad I found you. A rider has come up from Kent. He has this message for you, and another one for Mr. Darcy." He handed Nicholas a note. "He is to wait for a reply from YOU, though not from your cousin."

Hurriedly, Nicholas ripped open the missive and scanned its contents. Henson heard him mutter an expletive or two under his breath. Then he stood by the window and looked out in deep thought, very much a habit of his closest cousin as well. Finally he sprung into action, walking to a nearby escritoire to scribble something. "Henson," he said gravely, "I am off to London, and that is all you will tell Darcy. Where is the rider from Kent?"

Henson pointed him out to the correct location, puzzled at the colonel's graveness. Nicholas also wanted to know if Darcy was still off to Kent on Friday as planned, and upon receiving an affirmative answer, hurried out of the room with a mutter that Henson could barely make out: "He might not need to go."

* * *

On Thursday morning, Elizabeth gladly met up with Charlotte on Oakham Mount, getting a good laugh when Charlotte recounted to Elizabeth last Tuesday's interaction between Mr. Collins and Mr. Thiessen. "No two clergymen could be so different as those," chuckled Elizabeth.

"No, indeed," beamed Charlotte, then more seriously, added, "Lizzy, what would you say to me joining you more often in the reading classes with the children? I know I help you often enough, but how about working together with a wider plan for the young ones? For instance, I think it would be helpful to teach them arithmetic as well."

Elizabeth smiled brilliantly. "Oh, Charlotte, that would be magnificent! Mr. Thiessen would actually appreciate all the help we can get," she enthused. "In fact, if you like, you can do this Friday's lesson, which we have already planned out. I shall be … ahh … rather busy that morning." She knew that Darcy, having sent an express to his aunt and cousin yesterday, planned to travel that day to Kent with Colonel Fitzwilliam, to settle once and for all the assertions of his aunt regarding his engagement to Anne. Elizabeth wanted to see him before he left.

"You will not mind, Lizzy?" Charlotte asked breathlessly. "I do not want to encroach … Reverend Thiessen asked me yesterday if I would join, and he never really asked me before because he had been content to just have you, because … well … he did like … does like … ahhh …"

"Of course I would not mind, Charlotte, and what on earth would you be encroaching on?" asked Elizabeth, genuinely confused as to why Charlotte was stammering so.

"Well … you see …" Charlotte began, blushing prettily. Elizabeth grinned in sudden understanding, but before she could tease, someone called to them.

"Good morning, Miss Lucas. And to you, Elizabeth." Startled, both ladies turned to find Mr. Darcy walking towards them, with Gillebride's reins in his hand. "I hope you would not mind having extra company this morning."

"Not at all, William. Good morning to you, too."

Charlotte's eyes grew. _First name basis …? Oh … oh! _Seeing the warm looks exchanged by the two, Charlotte began to giggle softly. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy," she greeted the man cheerfully. "Why not you two walk ahead? I will be right behind you … as chaperon." Lizzy blushed, and Charlotte fondly kissed her on her cheek for an opportunity to whisper, "You have much to tell me, missy, and I will be sure to hunt you down."

Elizabeth laughed lightly and whispered back, "Not if I hunt you down first, Charlotte, as you have something to tell me, too." And with a squeeze of her friend's hand, she walked up to Darcy to take his arm as they walked down Oakham Mount.

Charlotte looked at them, her heart lightened. _Not encroaching, indeed, _she thought happily. She embraced that memory of Mr. Thiessen kindly telling her yesterday, after laughing together at some shared joke, "I have never truly seen you before, Miss Lucas … and that is my loss that I now hope to put to rights. I am glad to have found a new friend."

_Perhaps,_ Charlotte smiled, _there could be more._

* * *

Darcy and Elizabeth, with Charlotte, chanced upon Bingley and Jane in a similar stroll. The two courting couples decided to be each other's chaperons, inasmuch as Charlotte informed them that she had to go back to Lucas Lodge for a guest of her own that luncheon. Left to their own, therefore, the group agreed on Jane's excellent idea to go to the lake to watch and feed the swans with the handful of corn kernels and wheat grains that she kept in her pocket, and with the bread that Elizabeth kept in hers.

"I thought it would be good for all of us to watch and borrow the birds' tranquility over the waters," Jane said earnestly, "somehow to erase the tumult we all had last week." Elizabeth almost giggled at the star-struck look on Mr. Bingley's face, but only smiled as she took Mr. Darcy's arm again and led him to the path to the lake.

Jane was right. It was calm and peaceful by the lake, and there the four of them felt their hearts be cleansed. They each in different ways were rocked by traumatizing events last week, but they were mending. Nobody spoke as each of them gently threw grains and bread into the water and watched the swans dance in placid circles. Nobody even looked at each other. Each stood in perfect serenity that was his or hers alone – a complete communion with everything around, an intangible, indefinable handclasp with God, an inexpressible prayer from the heart. It was a sweet, encompassing peace, so solemn and perfect that it brought a lump to each person's throat, though unknown to the others … not because of sorrow, but in fact because of sublime joy.

Even when the grains and the bread had run out, they all still stood there on the bank of the lake, unmoving and unwilling to break the tranquility that embraced them. Then slowly and without a word, Jane turned to Lizzy. Her eyes were shining with what Elizabeth knew to be happiness as she responded with a glow of her own. Framing Lizzy's face with her hands, Jane kissed her sister's forehead and lingered. Elizabeth clasped her hands over Jane's and closed her eyes, her heart conferring a blessing as that which her most beloved sister had bestowed.

The men, on the other hand, stood not far, realizing this as a profound moment of re-affirmation for the sisters – not just sisters, truly, but kindred souls that time and distance would have no claim on. Somehow they all _just knew_ that each of them, singly and together, stood on the cusp of change - they had arrived at a bend, and their lives would never be the same.

Darcy quietly stepped behind Elizabeth and put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes met Jane's, and Darcy knew that he was given a blessing as well. Slowly, Jane took Elizabeth's hand and joined Darcy's with hers, then with a smile, turned to Mr. Bingley who had his hand outstretched for hers to take as well. And take it she did, as she deeply breathed in ... _PEACE._

* * *

**AN: Three more chapters and and EPILOGUE. I am having a lot of fun.**


	22. THE FOOL AND HIS LADY

Mr. Collins cackled to himself. _Tonight's the night_, he thought. In his usual superfluous way, he begged to be excused from the post-supper parlor time habit of the family, so he could farewell Hertfordshire with a short stroll in the garden. "I find everything about the estate delightful, and none more so than my fair cousins, but alas, my patroness …"

Mr. Bennet interrupted, "Er … yes, thank you, Mr. Collins. We shall … feel your absence acutely, indeed." With a bow, Collins took his leave. He heard snickers as he exited the dining room, but paid no mind. _Mine will be the heartiest laugh later._

He was glad that the Netherfield party did not come tonight. Mr. Darcy was very disconcerting, and Collins needed a clear mind. Stealthily, he walked upstairs – not outside as claimed - thankful for the dark. Instead of going to the two-roomed guest wing, Collins turned toward the family chambers. He knew exactly which room to go to, having tricked a servant one time into showing him. He also knew from close observation that Miss Elizabeth was always the first one to get to her bedchamber, about half an hour before anybody else because she liked reading in bed.

Carefully, he opened the door. Quickly choosing his hiding place, he crouched in a corner behind the door, behind a stand of bonnets, coats and scarves. _Perfect, _he thought. _Now I just need her to come. _He grinned as he shed off outer clothing and propped himself into a comfortable position, and looked around.

The room was not very large, but was neat. A small pile of books was by the bed stand, and a knitting basket on the floor. A shiny object on the bed caught his eye, and he craned his neck to check what it was. He could not make it out. Gingerly, he stood up and walked to the bed, and saw it was a small handheld mirror. He stroke it to appreciate its smoothness, and there was a brief flash which he surmised was a glint from the moonlight.

Then something most peculiar elicited a gasp: on the mirror came the image of Mr. Darcy at a desk. Suddenly, the man stiffened. He looked around, then glanced at something on his hand (_his ring?)_ and abruptly left the room. This all happened quickly, and then the mirror was back to its smooth black surface. _Odd, _Collins murmured. _I must be more tired than I thought._ Shrugging, he put down the mirror on the bed, and went back to his perch.

A few more minutes stretched out, then finally Collins heard footsteps in the hallway, though they quickly faded away. He sighed, perking up again later when another set of footsteps sounded, this time approaching the family chambers. His heart began to beat excitedly, almost leaping out of his chest as the footsteps stopped by this room. Slowly the door opened, and a woman stepped in.

Immediately, Collins was behind her, his hand tight over her mouth so she could not scream. He leered, "Miss Elizabeth … so good of you to come." For a little man, Collins truly had considerable strength, and he wound his other arm tightly around his prey to keep her as still as possible. "Hmm … you are more voluptuous than I thought," he whispered, rubbing his body against hers with a lascivious groan.

The woman was not to be overpowered, however. With an aggressive twist of her body, she freed herself – and at once landed a solid blow on the side of the parson's head. Shocked, he fell on the floor.

"Do not touch me again!" she screamed.

"Mrs. Bennet!" Mr. Collins gasped in horror. "What are you …" Immediately, a pair of arms – masculine this time – vigorously yanked him up by the collar and lifted him off the floor. Collins' heart sank. "Mr. Darcy," he squeaked.

"I warned you that if you tried anything, I would destroy you," Darcy gritted and shoved him down a chair. Turning to Mrs. Bennet, he asked, "Madam, are you well?"

Mrs. Bennet straightened her clothes and rubbed her aching jaws which were developing red marks from Collins' tight hold. "I knew we had a rat problem, Mr. Bennet," she muttered to her husband who stood on the side with Elizabeth.

Mr. Bennet gave a light chuckle as he kissed his wife on the temple. "That we did, Mrs. Bennet. You never fail to surprise me," he said. Then gently he addressed both wife and daughter, "Why don't you ladies go to the parlor for now? Mr. Darcy and I will take care of ... ahh ... _fumigation."_

Elizabeth had not even had a chance to greet Mr. Darcy since he came pounding on the Longbourn door a few minutes ago. She protested being dismissed now. "But Papa ..."

"Elizabeth Joyce," her father softly countered. "Go. We have issues to settle."

Lizzy sighed, but with a wry smile at Mr. Darcy, who sent her a subtle wink, left the room with her mother. Once the ladies were gone, Mr. Bennet turned furiously to Collins, and grabbed him by the neck. "You …!" he roared.

"P-Please! Do not hurt me ..."

"You meant to compromise Miss Elizabeth." Darcy said angrily. "I heard what you said to Mrs. Bennet when you thought she was Elizabeth." Collins shriveled even more. "What do you propose, Mr. Bennet? Magistrate?"

The Longbourn master growled fiercely, then called one of the servants who stood by the door. "Albert, bring this idiot to my study for now, and make sure you and Dexter do not give him a chance to escape. We will be there shortly." With a bow, the burly Albert picked up Collins by the scruff and led him out of the room, blustering and begging at the same time.

Once out of Collins' earshot, Mr. Bennet turned to Darcy. "We have leverage," he began succinctly.

Darcy nodded. "We can work that angle. He will most certainly plead the benefit of clergy."

"This is not a hangable offense after all, Mr. Darcy."

"Either way, he loses. Assault on a gentlewoman is always a grave issue, and we have witnesses to state to the fact."

"We can open the option to buy him out to our advantage," said Mr. Bennet, deep in thought.

"I would willingly contribute, sir, for Elizabeth …" began Mr. Darcy, but at this, he was sharply cut off by the Longbourn master.

"My daughter is not a bargaining chip, sir, and until her status changes, she is my responsibility," he told Darcy in no mean terms, his gaze sharp and straight at the younger man.

Darcy flushed a little, but understood completely the meaning of the other man, and with his own gaze unwavering, responded, "I am aware, Mr. Bennet, and I meant no disrespect. But understand that my intention toward your daughter is only of the noblest kind, and I would prefer that this courtship be not long before Elizabeth takes my name."

Mr. Bennet breathed deeply. "I realize this, and I … I thank you. We have little by means of dowry and savings, Mr. Darcy, but I am hoping to turn that around soon. That is where you can most help me." Then with a resolute sigh, he straightened up and declared, "Well, let us see what sort of bargain we can come up with the dog downstairs, shall we?"

Darcy snorted. "Frankly, Mr. Bennet, I much prefer the epithet of 'rat'."

Thus chuckling, the two gentlemen left the room to prepare for what they hoped would not be a long drawn-out talk. Mr. Bennet thought to inquire as they walked, "How did you know to come here, Mr. Darcy? You were most certain of Collins being in Lizzy's room."

Darcy had expected this question, so with only a slight pause, replied, "An intuitive prod, sir … it came very strongly." He then looked at the patriarch. "I am rarely wrong about my feelings about your daughter, Mr. Bennet."

With another chuckle, the older gentleman patted the younger on the back. "You are selling yourself very well, young man. Very well indeed."

* * *

Where they expected a resentful silence as they approached the bookroom, they could instead hear violent arguing coming from inside. Naturally, one active participant was Mrs. Bennet.

"I do not care who you are, madam, and I do not care right now if you are the queen of … of … wherever. You have come into my home and attacked my child, so by jove, I will feed you to the pigs myself!"

Mr. Bennet and Darcy rushed to the room as another voice rose above the din. "Obstinate, headstrong woman! I am unaccustomed to such language! Hear me in silence, for I will not be interrupted! This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. Mr. Darcy is engaged to _my daughter_. Now what have you to say?''

"Only this: that if your nephew himself denies it to us - as he has - then we would take his word over yours anytime. You have been nothing but uncivil, and he a gentleman in every way. Madam, you are nothing of the Lady that you pretend to be!"

The lady scoffed. "You cannot suppose that that means anything, coming from a woman of such inferior birth! Married to a gentleman, yes, but of such paltry means …"

"Lady Catherine!" boomed Fitzwilliam Darcy, finally able to recover from the shock of finding his aunt in Longbourn at this time of the evening. Cursorily inspecting the room, he saw that the younger Bennets were being led out by their Aunt Gardiner. Jane and Elizabeth were keeping their mother from furiously advancing towards the other matron. Two servant men also stood nearby, but absolutely at a loss as what to do. The most ridiculous sight of all was Collins, who wore such a smug expression as he stood by Lady Catherine's elbow_, _fanning the lady's face with a card stock on one hand and the lady's own fan in the other, and vigorously nodding his head in agreement with all that she uttered.

With great energy, Lady Catherine turned to her nephew. "Fitzwilliam! There you are! Come, for a report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago."

"Oh? And by whose hand?" Darcy glared at the toadying man behind her, and that triumphant smirk faltered somewhat.

"Mr. Collins, of course! He is to be engaged to Miss Elizabeth," she threw a disdainful look at Lizzy, "but she apparently has set her eyes on you. I do not know by which arts and allurements she has tricked you, Fitzwilliam, but I have come to have this report universally contradicted. Is Pemberley to be thus polluted by the likes of …"

"Enough!" Darcy's voice was hard and forceful, and for once, the woman was riveted to the lordly mien and tone of voice of her nephew, something she very rarely had occasion to see or hear. She paused. Darcy forced his voice to lower. "Madam, you have entered the home of a gentleman, at an unacceptable time of the evening. It is bad form to have you insult his family. Come, we can speak privately at Netherfield … "

"No," Lady Catherine stressed stubbornly. "I will have it here and now, Fitzwilliam. You ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. My character has ever been celebrated for its frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. Now, come, we must put this to rest."

Heavy silence ruled the room, and Darcy noticed the smug look appear again on Collins' face. His jaw clenched. "Very well," he said tightly. "You choose to speak here openly, madam, and I must tell you that it is at the peril of your own pride." He stepped closer to Lady Catherine and in a cold voice asked, "What is it you wish to know?"

Lady Catherine hesitated, suddenly unsure of her nephew's sentiments, but with the hauteur of her years, lifted her head and demanded, "Tell _them_, once for all, that you are not engaged to their daughter."

"I am not engaged," Darcy readily replied, as he witnessed the feral, triumphant grin of both his aunt and her lackey, "but only because I have not asked _yet_. Let me emphasize that last word, madam. Next question?"

Lady Catherine was livid. "This is not to be borne! Fitzwilliam, I insist on being satisfied. You are betrothed to my daughter – your cousin – Anne! From your infancy, you have been intended for each other, as a favorite wish of your mother and myself. Is this plan now to be prevented by this ..." she pointed a bony finger at Elizabeth, "upstart of low birth and wily morals?" Elizabeth gasped and was about to retort when Darcy beat her to it.

"Lady de Bourgh!" thundered Darcy, deliberately abstaining from alluding to any intimacy inherent to the use of her Christian name. Mrs. Bennet also tightened with anger, and Mr. Bennet straightened to call her ladyship on this slander. Darcy however swiftly stepped closer to his aunt, rather fortunately cutting off the irate Longbourn master and mistress from the guest, and said icily, "One more word against Miss Elizabeth and I will cast you off from anything to do with me, Georgiana or all of Darcy holdings."

His voice dipped dangerously. "Do not think for one second that I had forgotten how Rosings five years ago needed Darcy resources to prop the failing prospects of your estate. That was when you started pushing the so-called betrothal between me and Anne. My parents were not around anymore to contradict you - they would have! Madam, that story has all been on your side. My mother wrote to me in her journal that I am never to feel intimidated into something so unreasonable as in marrying someone I do not wish."

Momentarily flustered, Lady Catherine quickly rallied. "You forget your place, Fitzwilliam. By your very lineage, you are formed for greatness, as my Anne. This makes you ideal for each other. Both of you descended, on the maternal side, from the same noble line, and from both your father's …"

Darcy's eyes glinted dangerously as he interrupted. "I am a gentleman, she is a gentleman's daughter. So far we are equal. I do not need more money to sustain me, nor more property to worry about. A title is not necessary unless it is something earned with respect. No, Lady de Bourgh. I am my own master, and I cut my own path. I am only resolved to act in a manner that will constitute my own happiness, without reference to you or to anybody, save the woman I am to marry.''

His eyes narrowed in contempt. "This fantasy of yours would not have anything to do with your offer of Rosings Park - _among othe_r _things - _to** my **father, would it? One he turned down in shock and disgust? Pray speak now of wily morals."

Lady Catherine reddened. "The alliance of Pemberley and Rosings Park ..."

Suddenly, a cheerful voice came from the doorway. "Rosings Park, you say? Why, _that_ is the name of my estate! Or more accurately, the estate of my wife, the _legitimate _mistress of Rosings Park, Anne de Bourgh, now Fitzwilliam." The newcomer grinned and bowed. "Good evening, everyone."

Darcy's eyes widened in surprise. His cousin Nicholas had returned.


End file.
